Thank you spending my three days off with me.
I got stuff done that would have fallen through the cracks.
I read and I wrote and between the ashtma attacks
the kitchen was made almost clean.
If my mother doesn’t make a fuss
I may even do laundry later,
after a nebulizer treatment and
before dipping into my party bag of pills.
I’d love to live a life of sleep, but
now living with so many rest is just a distant dream
impossible laughable to meet.
I can at least keep busy to distract
from the sounds inside my chest.
So, I thank you,
for discouraging me from going out and
spending money and using gas that
I should save for going to work.
Just one favor:
In this tiny apartment with four other little bodies
let me be the only with whom you choose to spend your time.
See, my oldest little sister has lungs even worse than mine
and if you touch her even softly she may almost die.
Please, stick with me for as long as you like;
this lack of appetite is cleansing and
these medicated dreams leave me smiling when I wake.
This view from my sick bed of little ones reading
is almost worth the trouble breathing that keeps me at home.
I get to see the news instead of just hear it in my car…
There is always
always a bright side.
At least I’m not in Gaza.