Somber, this intrusion,
me immobilized –
fear mounting, fuming
common odours triggering
paranoia – fruits
of a prolific dreamer,
buried in withdrawal,
work in progress,
loose clutter,
getting nowhere
dead.
Tag: chronic illness
Spooning
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons.”
Source: “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” by T.S. Eliot
I line my spoons on the counter –
measures of the day’s reserves
one spoon for morning tea
with a side of emails read
a shower requires two or three
with a guarantee of needed rest
I’ll linger horizontal – added care
when an outing is in the plans
the thrill of venturing, and delight
of conversation shared wipes
the counter clean – I’ll crash
and crave for one spoon more
enough to get me into bed
pray tomorrow’s count the same.
(For Reena’s Exploration challenge, in which she challenges us to use one of the given lines of poetry. Spooning is the term used for those of us with chronic illness who have limited energy. Myalgic Encephalomyelitis is characterized by exhaustion after exertions. My day starts with depleted energy, and I work from there.)
Life Altered
Morning light but a trickle
mind switches into gear,
body resisting response,
ambition thwarted by illness,
the usual game – pray this day
will embrace gently, and
bring a gift of healing.
(Image from personal collection.)
Spirit Stands Strong
Progress – seldom linear –
tosses me into unexpected decline –
stranded and incapacitated.
My son – with labour-hardened strength
leaps to my side, steadying me
and I feel the fear in his caring grip.
My daughter, ever compassionate,
reaches out for me with horror-filled eyes
as my body crumples onto the bed.
My husband, my oak, seeks to comfort
his voice betraying the helplessness
this futile predicament imposes.
Beloveds, I know that you see me
this dis-abled, non-functioning shell
weakened and sickly, lying on this bed.
Do not be deceived – that is not me –
it is only an illusion –
a vessel – temporarily fettered.
I am, in essence, beside you –
ambitions and desires intact.
Feel me there, tall and proud.
Sense the wholeness of my being
remember me for the woman I am yet to be –
My spirit stands strong.
(I first wrote this poem in August of 2015, when efforts to sit up and visit with friends caused a collapse. I wrote it as reassurance for my family that the woman they knew was still strong. I post here now as a reminder to myself – of how far I have come, and how strong my spirit remains.)
Chronic Companion
She sits with me at breakfast,
follows me to the park,
hovers on the drive home,
celebrates when I lie down,
snuggles in with warming pad,
and moans…
Not a companion
I would have chosen,
preferred the active,
athletic life, and yet
She complains with me
in the afternoon, invites
excuses during dinner,
grounds me in the evenings
and tosses me at bedtime
Not a companion
I would have chosen,
but at least I’ll grant her this –
she’s chronically devoted.
Ache
Sky darkens
burdened clouds
release sorrow
in empathy
body throbs –
aching harmonics.
(Twitter Tuesday @Vjknutson)
Surreal, This Life
Sunday morning runners
pass by bay window,
oozing life, while I strain
to catch a glimpse, movement
tenuous – irony of life
rendered surreal
by chronic illness.
(Twitter Tuesday. For more Twitter poems find me @Vjknuton.)
