Chronic
I clamber from bed each morning
and gasp
to put weight on my left leg,
the right not much better.
Friction, gravity, and a tragic toss
of my dice leaves me limping.
Cast back to my foremothers —
how did they navigate when old limbs failed?
Did they still knit socks for soldiers despite carpal tunnel?
Did suffragettes clench their jaws against the agony of every damn step?
Did women on farms suffer with tree pollen at the height of planting season?
My body does its secret work of self-destruction.
I dress up anxiety to perform as excitement
while dread pretends at expectation.
In yet another medical waiting room
I imagine wearing a body bag.
Black goes with everything.
11 thoughts on "Chronic"
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Your poem in the way you speak of pain–reaches out and kicks me with its truth as to how it feels, and how it makes you think about all who came before in other times and how it keeps us all on a teeter totter as to where it may take one at any moment. Thank you for your excellent poem!…wishing you a good day!
Thank you so much, Ann!
Felt this poem.
Yes: “My body does its secret work of self-destruction./I dress up anxiety to perform as excitement”
I try to shoot for “relateable” in my poetry. There are commonalities among humanity. (((HUG)))
Oh! I’m dealing with a hip issue so I can relate all too well.
Your ending is both scary and apt. Scary good.
I agree with Kevin, that ending made me exhale!
Thank you, Kevin and Jeremy. Yes, I was aiming for a gut punch. So many of us deal with chronic issues, we share the understanding.
From the title to the last line, this is a riveting read.
Thank you so much, Nancy!
E. E. Thank you for writing this! So many of us deal with pain, and your poem addresses all the questions and anxieties .
“My body does its secret work of self-destruction.
I dress up anxiety to perform as excitement” – wow!
Last line is so haunting!!
Be well, my friend!
Thank you, Sylvia! (So often, “wellness” feels like an enigma.)