Arthritis
Wrinkled forehead creases as he looks at me
From the burgundy sofa where he lives most days
Free of things like water bills and car payments
He lies down to eat and drag slowly on a cigarette
The smoke fills the breathing space up again
And I wish he could quit taking of the nicotine
Yet I know that his addiction is stronger to this
Than any addiction he might have to my tenderness
His pain drifts around me like a silent glare
Lifting up toward my confidence and sucking air
Whispering to me of the ways that I can care
For his back and hip, his bones that are arthritic
He doesn’t tell me that he is hurting every day
Instead the pain surfaces when we’re quiet, watching
The television blaring away in the background
Sounding like some channel like national geographic
When he laces up his hiking boots, it’s there inside
A little boot insert that makes one leg a little higher
This helps his hip to not hurt the way it once did
And gives him the leverage to walk easy as a black lab
It’s the pain that forced the doctor to prescribe for him
Opioids that were in fashion when he first visited the man
They are said to lessen the pain and make him feel again
Like the man he was before arthritis started to sing solo
The medicine is another addiction for him to sin with
It isn’t taken in order the way the bottle instructs him
He takes more of the tablets than he would need if he was
Losing a leg or arm or using a morphine drip with it
Finally, he stops taking the pain medication for good
Seeing that it never helps his aches despite what he does
He is left with the knowledge that he must take his aching
And leave it there, on the couch, for a pillow to sleep against
He suffers and I pray that someday he will find some way
Of realizing that he has been blessed with this disease
Which tells the joints to erase the youth of the past thirty years
And remind the bones that tomorrows are no longer laughing
Tomorrow they will pray the way that I have told them to
With a sincerity and compassion for the ones who do know
They will never walk again or use some of their limbs
For they are the ones who truly suffer from a loss of living
He looks at me with eyes dilated by painful nights
But he knows the times will bring him back to joy
And there he can appreciate, thank God for everything
Because without this pain, he’d simply be another addict
The cigarette brings me back to the room with him
And I stop thinking of the ways he could become a friend
Instead of the one who knows that I am his wife
Not his foe, despite my stirring him up with words
He and I are best friends in spite of where we’ve been
In front of doctors and nurses, trying to kill this curse
That makes us feel we’ve been given a life sentence
Not to mention, the loss of mere genuine feelings
September 15, 2019
Crossroads Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Silent One
Copyright © Regina Mcintosh | Year Posted 2019
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