Write a prose poem that captures a quiet, unnoticed moment where the past makes itself known, not through memory, but through sensation and the body itself. Let the moment unfold in your body first: a flicker, a tension, a smell, a shift in light. Avoid dramatic revelation; instead, stay with the subtleties. The poem should move like a fog creeping into a familiar room.
Optional guiding lines to begin with:
* There are mornings the air folds around me like gauze...
* I take my meds like sacraments...
* The past doesn’t knock. It slips in through the side door, wearing my old coat.
