Waking Up Anxious

Waking Up Anxious

anxiety nests in my back like a bird
that shouldn’t be there–
(but what kind of beaked being
should bird
my back?)

anxiety marches through my ear; an army timing its tromp
to my pulse
(as if that could fool me). 

I try to just sit
with the bird
the army—there’s also a worm
somewhere but the bird
pays it no heed—

which gives me the idea of sneaking around
the bird
the worm
the army, moving past them, 

I am thankful
for my training as a child,
all the hide and seek, sardines,
touch football, jumping

I think back
to the feel of bare feet.
I can bare my feet now, of course,
but the feel of them running,
their soft sounding of grass, earth, 

all that pride
In the roughened sole.


A very quick drafty poem for April. All rights reserved to pic and poem. Take care!

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