what good can i do,
wallowing in thoughts
like a forgetful fish
drowning water
what good can i do,
i can’t get out of bed
like a starved bear
during hibernation
what good can i do,
my hairs a matted mess
like a neglected dog
left in the street
what good can i do,
with mix-matching socks
like a stripe-less zebra
that thinks it’s a horse
what good can i do,
plaque disintegrates my teeth
like a scared phoenix
burst into flames
what good can i do,
with bleeding cuticles
like a hunted dear
shot like a bullseye
what good can i do,
my laundry piled up
like a determined hiker
that falls down Everest
what good can i do,
junk clutters my room
like an eagle attacked
a small birds nest
what good can i do,
when my bed brings me sanity
but sanity brings chaos
and chaos brings fear
what good can i do if i fear myself?
About the Creator
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Nice work
Very well written. Keep up the good work!
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Excellent storytelling
Original narrative & well developed characters
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More stories from Yael Spodek and writers in Poets and other communities.
Reaching Out
I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
By Christy Munson5 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
Powerful and impactful.