What Fright Looks Like

My upstairs neighbor
turns on the car for six
in the morning. I’ve been up
for two hours so far. She’s
going to work, and I’m going
to sit still, very still.

My retirement came early
thanks to this illness. She goes
to work just as I would have gone
to work without the sickness.
I sit very still, so still;
I am wondering if I will rise again.

New England, southern New England,
is waiting for its first snowfall. I’m waiting
for the snow, the rain; been up for two hours
so far, sitting quite still. The neighbor
goes to work with her exhaust billowing
behind her. I’m not remotely OK.

I’m not even remotely OK, not
extremely all right. The day is still
the night until the sunrise. It’s coming.
Of course. Meanwhile I wil sit very,
very still, and pray the neighbor does well
at her job as I will be here. Not OK.

Wait for sunrise to come. I wait.
I can only sit and wait for it to crack
the sky, the light of the ground,
this shell I am growing around myself.
What the neighbor sees I can only guess.
I’m sitting very still. It’s what fright looks like.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T