Sometimes the day does not end
when the laptop is closed.
Nor when the call ends.
Nor when a person comes home.
The body still carries an imprint.
The eyes hold the last images.
The jaw holds answers
that were not spoken.
The tongue remains ready.
The neck still carries direction.
The chest holds a pace
that is no longer needed.
The pelvis is sitting,
but the day has not yet landed in it.
The feet touch the ground.
The sitting bones touch the chair.
The back is present.
Breath comes.
Nothing needs to be completed.
The day does not need to be explained.
It does not need to be evaluated.
It does not need to be put away correctly.
It is enough
when the body begins to stop holding its shape.
The eyes take in the whole room again.
The tongue returns to the mouth.
The jaw releases the unspoken answers.
The chest no longer needs to carry the conclusion.
The belly receives space.
Weight returns downward.
Not as relief.
As reality.
Here is the chair.
Here are the feet.
Here is the pelvis.
Here is the body,
which no longer needs to hold the whole day that has passed.
The end of the day is the moment
when the body stops holding the day
and begins to bear itself again.