some days
my legs work the way i want them to
and i can walk to the corner for coffee
without limping,
or wanting to cry
on those days i am proud
my cheeks hurt from smiling big
i walk everywhere
carry sacks of groceries the mile from
the shop to my house
walk the greenbelt and down through the tunnel
where, once, years ago, i sat with two men
passed a joint around
and sang the blues until morning
walk to get lost, just to feel the
blood rushing down through my feet
but most days i wake up
and my ankles are swollen and red
i take the stairs one at a time, slow and steady
hearing my bones creak and pop like dim,
muted gunshots
i thought i could get by, going slow
until i healed
but spring has come and with it the swarms of bugs
mosquitos and spiders starved from
months of cold
when i sleep, they come up from the floorboards
and feast on my ankles
chewing at a buffet of my flesh
i claw in my sleep and when i wake up
my feet and legs are pocked, open and raw
the bites grow so big they look like
hard, small eggs pushed up under my skin
and i scratch until i bleed
i cannot scratch hard enough
spring has come and i am crippled
trapped inside, steeping in this pain until
i am a tea too strong and bitter
to drink
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