When I wake
in the mornings not wishing to rise
longing for the liveliness
of yesterday,
not this back-broken being
snared by daily
confines,
where you imagine
the only things that can dance anymore
are your eyelashes.
What will happen
when I can no longer walk:
when my steel willpower__yields
and my legs abruptly collapses
and I fall
mind-wounded
an insect trying to claw
back up the wall at 3 am
burning,
not knowing
if my shout will be heard
by my sleeping son.
It's a stone yet to be turned.