the sick room

late morning overcast grey-white light
paints everything in the room with a muted glow
we both spent separate days here
burdened with the same illness
lonesome hours filled with thought, reading,
ideas for projects that i am unable to do presently
due to my sickness, my exhaustion

sick days
tranquil and quiet
the mood outside of cloudy day matches
the mood of my physical ailment
how many sick days have i spent in
similar fashion?

the room in this light
i realize that it is truly the home of
two separate entities, beings,
nothing truly feels like it is mine

a conglomeration of “us”
a red wool blanket
some books, a few plants
turing their leaves to the window light

pages bleed, acid free
bodies bleed, acid free
pH litmus strip swallow wait
there is a pit of acid down the
dark musty hallway that is my throat

i can taste it sometimes
a deep summer humming of
insects in the late
afternoon by the water
flowing slow, slow
ochre and dusty violet
shadows with eyes closed
drenched in sweat
fingers dipped in the
cool solace of a glass
of ice water

acid-taste in my mouth
from a memory
invaded with the false
idea of the taste of
copper pennies

rendered useless and
prostrate in the grass
with the rythmic hum of cicada
chorus, other invertebrates

slow river with deep water
100 degrees and overcast and i
know the taste of humidity as
it hangs heavy in the
southern air

it has been years
since i have felt
this image

my body rejects
certain substances
and the acid taste

i am reminded
of my own