Sick Day

First comes the fevers,
the tips of my body
bathed in fire
and a dripping sweat
that soaks my sheet.

There is a claw
gripping at my chest,
and I try not to see
things in black and white.
My legs scream when I stand.

I have dreams
of loose earth and still air.
Each small sip of water
is a struggle
as if my throat

has become a war zone
and my vision dims
like the last minutes
before the sunrise.
This illness has become me.

Holding My Breath

You are holding
my breath.
Each intake of life
and exhale of waste
passes through your fingers
like water
from a faucet.
Your hands fumble
to make a cup
for each drink.

You are watching
my eyes.
The afternoon sunlight
mutes their color
like a child’s blanket
hides the night’s monsters.
You must focus
to see the fear
I am fighting.

I am wrapped
in your arms.
I can feel your strength
protect me
like a morning fog
that blurs all the sharp edges
of the coming day.
You must believe me
when I say
I love you.