Tensioned fingers she stretches
Every morning, to the count of five.
Her legs lift, fall in step‎
As they learned to, sixty-nine years ago‎.
They chop
To the beat‎ of misfiring neurons.

‎Dopamine courses unevenly
Pooling‎ its resources‎ with platinum-iridium
Filaments firing regularly.
My father observes from outside
She, from inside‎. Sometimes
They find the winning combination.

She probably learned to walk earlier than most
A bicycle, her favourite escape.‎
In her lab, she stopped for 3 o’clock tea
Then her six pm commute‎.
She couldn’t bear to see me slouch
Or worse still, lean.

Dyskinesia, bradykinesia‎,
Resting tremor, ‎micrographia.
‎A federation of subverted movement
Pitching its tents between intent and action.
There’s nothing like a degenerative disorder
To boost your vocabulary.

I speak to her across a continent‎.
Has she eaten dinner‎ by herself,
Has the morning gone well?
And then almost casually,
Will she go ‎for a walk today?
Her every yes ‎a victory.‎