“Get some rest and we’ll have a nice day,”
he said, not understanding
how trapped I feel by the cocoon of illness
I am only just beginning to emerge from.
Unaware of how freely he moves
through the world, like a butterfly
flitting and fluttering from leaf to leaf
on the breeze of a whim,
…He doesn’t see that like
the newly winged caterpillar struggling
to break through the silken shell it has woven
around itself, I too am chafing against my confines.
…He doesn’t see that before
I can trust my still fragile body,
I must inch my way out of my old skin
and slowly unfurl my wings.
He doesn’t see that even though
I am longing to be free, until
I, too, can fly on the breeze of a whim
there are no nice days.