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Cracking On
A Year of Sonnets — 008/365
I’ll put my head upon the windowsill
and let the ice osmose into my head;
may Winter gift my weary bones the will
to carry on, to not keel over, dead.
Though stopping for tonight’s a lovely thought,
divest my bones of every burden known
and let them rest unworried, find a spot
of light, push to recovery, and moan —
for moan they must: the journey presses on
and Grief will never be a stranger here,
but, possibly, with time, I’ll find a Dawn
worth finding. Yes, a day devoid of fear.
My eyes crack up and take in all the light;
the world below cranks on. Me, too. I’ll fight.
Do not be tempted to read any metaphor into this. It’s literally about trying to get my sick ass out of bed today. Because sometimes, that’s about as far as we can get.
