Light as a feather

Ten.

In April

We pretend to be dead

Light as a feather, stiff as a board

Fifty.

In August

I pretend to have energy

Heavy as lead, itchy as a rash

I am here again

Wishing I had my friends’ fingers

Pressed under my back

Shoulders, legs, bottom

Lifting me up

Chanting for me

I am floating on top of a mosh pit

I am flying past chandeliers, over fancy clothes

Me in sweats and t-shirt

I am here again

Decades go by and I no longer

pretend to be dead

Most of us don’t now

Too many close calls

Too many we know didn’t make it this long

We are too thankful for the life that is left

Ten. In April

It was the only way we had

To talk about bodies without life

Tell stories about how a person lived

Worldly deeds

Relationships

Favorites

I pretend to have energy

Focus on words, prisms of light

Fingers massage my temples

Chocolate and iced tea

Passion of course

Decaf of course

Because I want to fall asleep tonight

Fifty. In August.

Still dreaming I could be

Light

like a feather

Strong

like wood

chanting for me

regardless

of

this

fatigue

These words and images are the property of the poet, Sharon Frances.

Do not use in part or whole without permission.