Moving In

I have indelicate knees. the word I thought of when I was stretching the other day. A scar on the right knee represents a home run. I was a baseline hitter so having that rare home run recorded in my right knee is nice in an odd way. Slid across home base on my knees and sliced myself open on a fin-shaped rock. Sixteen stitches. I have other scars. Actually, scars on both knees tell stories from my tomboy youth I remember only in sketches. Indelicate. Today, at the gym, I was stretching again, and for some reason, I smelled one knee. Felt a sense of tenderness. Sweat. Smelled like sweat. My sweat. Unlike anyone else's. I have been camping out in this body for some time now, and, finally, I want to move in. Be in these knees.