Diurnal

fayroberts · Diurnal

This is one of those days:
the euphemistically entitled
Bad Pain Days
where someone was careless
with the ground glass,
let it infest my joints,
make its stuttering way
through every vein.

This is one of those days:
a make-do viewpoint
dominating,
a day when the dishes wait,
patient as the grave,
for my hands and knees
to deflate,
for irritation at the unfinished
to trump rest or relaxation.

This is one of those days:
every socket sprung,
alignment a myth,
grimacing at the bitter
brilliance of:
Remember when it all worked
properly, and jocularity
wasn’t a prop to dismiss
the head-tilt of sympathy?
(Wit serving in place of wisdom.)

This is one of those days:
the grating sounds along every
nerve-ending,
the light beaten into
a bludgeon for my skull,
where unpleasant textures
seem endless, 
and scents invade,
the vanguard of unwanted
stimulus.

This is one of those days,
and I’m sorry to say
that my scale has shifted lately
(like the Overton Window),
the baseline now sitting where
Oww! used to reside,
beckoning simpering gratitude
that it’s an interlude
between these days:
the New Bad Days,
the refactoring of fractions days.

This is one of those days
where self-talk is a brace,
where hope of a hiatus
has to cease;
stopping indefinitely
not an option because
life’s a relentless motherfucker
and you have responsibilities
that are also a pivot for
continued existence,
but at least you’ve found a way to say:
you don’t get deft from me today
to those who matter.

This is one of those days,
and I don’t mind. Not really.
It means that I have stood
against gravity, championing
my ongoing rights to independence,
setting foot on the foothills,
that will see me,
however slowly, arrhythmically,
to a good view of all that’s been,
and some of what’s to be…
But you need to know,
because I need a hand
to make it to my feet
on days like these.

Image: Full Lunar Eclipse Progression by Jean Beaufort