Arthritis Books

“With tinny drumbeats, the rain pounds the roof
My teary eyes compete
They can't keep up

Breathe
Let it go
Breathe

The vice on my chest tightens its razoring grip
I gasp
No relief

If only tears could soothe the pain
Then, I would look upon the tidal waves against these walls without fear
Crush and roll me, I'd plead,
Mold my body anew

But with these tears come no healing,
Just death, slow and determined

This old girl, this old woman, this old soul lives here inside
A tortoise outgrowing this hare's body
This youthful skin encasing a crumbling frame

I smooth the matted web of curls off my sweaty neck
And roll my eyes at the clock

How slowly the time squeaks by here in this room,
In this comfortless bed

I abandon the warmth from under my blanket tower and shiver

The draft rattles my spine
One by one, striking my vertebrae
Like a spoon chiming empty wine glasses,
Hitting the same fragile note till
my neck shakes the chill away

I swipe along the naked floor
with a toe for the slippers beneath the bed
Plush fabric caresses my feet

Stand!
Get up

With both hands, Gravity jerks me back down

Ugh! This cursed bed!
No more, I want no more of it

I try again
My legs quiver in search of my former strength

Come on, old girl, Come on, old woman, Come on, old soul,
Don't quit now

The floor shakes beneath me,
Hoping I trip and fall

To the living room window, I trudge
My joints grind like gravel under tires
More pain no amount of tears can soothe away

Pinching the embroidered curtain between my knuckles,
I find solace in the gloom
The wind humming against the window,
Makes the house creak and groan

Years ago, the cold numbed my pain
But can it numb me again,
This wretched body and fractured soul?

Outside I venture with chants fluttering my lips,
Desperate solemn pleas
For comfort, For mercy
For ease, For health

I open the plush throw spiraled around my shoulders
And tiptoe around the porch's rain-soaked boards

The chilly air moves through me like Death on a mission,
My body, an empty gorge with no barriers to stop him,
No flesh or bone

My highest and lowest extremities grow numb
But my feeble knees and crippling bones turn half-stone, half-bone
Half-alive, half-dead
No better, just worse

The merciless wind freezes my tears
My chin tumbles in despair
I cover myself and sniffle

Earth’s scent funnels up my nose:
Decay with traces of life in its perfume

The treetops and their slender branches sway,
Defying the bitter gusts

As I turn to seek shelter, the last browned leaf breaks away
It drifts, it floats
At the weary tree’s feet, it makes its bed alongside the others

Like a pile of corpses, they lie
Furled and crinkled with age

No one mourns their death
Or hurries to honor the fallen with thoughtful burials
No rage-filled cries echo their protests at the paws trampling their fragile bodies,
Or at the desecration by the animals seeking morning relief
And new boundaries to mark

Soon, the stark canopy stretching over the pitiful sight
Will replace them with vibrant buds and leaves
Until the wasting season again returns

For now, more misery will barricade my bones as winter creeps in
Unless Death meets me first to end it”
― Jalynn Gray-Wells, Broken Hearts of Queens