This sitting still is painful
I’ve lost the nerves and feeling
To do so anymore.
My urgency and anxiety
Makes an awful racket
At my closed bedroom door.
“Please wait.” I respond softly.
My body ever sore
And lacking desire to remain
Amidst stacks of laundry
And hairy dust balls.
Two fans blow at each other;
Is this a lazy wind?
Coffee cups with
Level lines equispaced
Down their insides
Invite me for another taste,
Which could be the cause
Of this shooting pain
Down my left side.
Or maybe the pain
Just comes from sitting here
Against my will
Struggling to sit
Struggling to lay
Struggling to get movement
My body so much enjoys.
As I move
Each itch of stiffness
Cries at me
Asks me if it’s ok
To be moving so.
I respond in silence,
How am I to know?
The Doctor hasn’t looked at me
Only repeats the same question.
The confusion on my face
Would tell him everything,
But a blindness from this summer sun
Must be my fever’s killer.
