Peripheral Neuropathy

White-washed tomb,

tiny square bedroom,

women’s voices twitter

outside the closed door.

Knees give,

shoulders crunch

into wall,

body thumps

to the floor.

One arm hugs legs, the other caresses wall:

Stroke the little white nodes these hand can’t see;

Eyes adjust, I call myself crazy, pat wall softly;

Smack harder, the wall will be closer to nerves—





Numbness, only, tingles up my arm.

I scream

into pale sheets.

The pattering feet of happiness, I hear,

come down the hall. A feminine voice coos lightly through the door—

Are you there?

No.                                   Yes.

I don’t know anymore.

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