Poetry Thursday: Trajectory of a cold


First, a tickle

Then an ache
or two
and many more yawns
but not too many to push through

Fair warning
for what comes next:
the sore throat
creeping down the pipes
the foul fog
crawling up my skull
lodging here
and there

Squeezing in
behind my eyes
while I squeeze in
one more call
one more thought
one more line
wrapping my brain in muck
but not too much to think through
however dimly

The cold and I
race one another
to see who will get there first
up and down my body
up and down my to-do list
even though we both know
who will win

The calls and the thoughts and the lines
fall flat
until finally
I fall, too,
on my back
into bed
which is where this cold
and the body that conjured it
have wanted me all along

I would rail and pout
but they've got me:
it's good here
in bed
with cool sheets
and dim lights
and I wonder why I struggled so long

And as I give in
letting sleep and gratitude
wash over me
I swear that this is the last time
and it will be

Until the next...


Image by InSinU8 via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.