The Chill
I don’t listen to classical music,
but I do pause when I hear
my body play that one key,
setting the mood for the nervous
symphony.
That C8 note causes a pang in my throat
as it clangs
and clangs
and clangs
ivory,
chilling me to the bone.
*
Fahrenheit
I am a star in a straight-jacket,
hoping that I can burn hot enough to break open and breathe,
but my stomach can’t digest this heat,
iron gut dissolved
hot pot
calling the kettle black
gut bubbling from the fusion of trying to complete the feat
of slipping out of this vessel and into the unknown
roaming like a ghost in my own home,
another Victorian child dressed in ghost sheets.
*
Batman & Robin
We are each other’s heroes;
the parent who stayed with a sick child,
and the sick child that got their parent out of work for the day.
*
Ritz Crackers
Ritz crackers have to have some cells of the Lord’s body stored into their wafers,
healing me with every bite,
lifting me up like frankincense smoke,
like voices of an angels choir,
like heads looking up at the Sistine Chapel’s ceiling,
like Lazarus,
another miracle,
performed.
*
Maury
I imagine that my body is on an episode of Maury when I don’t feel well.
Immune System sits cross legged on stage,
lamenting that maybe, neglect is why they hurt so much,
ignoring the fact that White Blood Cell is always at work because they were asked to, in the hopes to make them both stronger.
White Blood Cell is upset with Immune System because they abused the network to be “heard” by them.
They squabble and fight, missing their own diagnosis through their mismatched sentences;
numb from unhealed wounds.
*
Oprah,
can you promise me that if I look under my couch,
that I will find the remote
and the cure for the common cold?
*
Thank you for reading this impromptu anthology. I would love to hear what your cures to sick days are. Do you watch reruns of Oprah? Do you make a bowl of Jell-O?
Share your remedies below.