*I usually don’t go for rhyming poetry, but this seemed to write itself today. John’s birthday was yesterday and by bedtime it had become particularly difficult. Sometimes, it’s true, migraines are emotional, stress and fear leaking from the heart to the mind. And so.
New snow, that breathless bright white
Usually brings joy, but some birthdays bite.
The soft sensitive sponge that is my brain
Absorbs others’ guilt, sadness, panic, pain.
So today I wake with my head at an eight
Using DHE and Ativan, I am able to evade my fate.
Covers pulled up tight, the blinds closed
Children go to school, I continue to doze.
Life passes by: the air crisp, cars roar
My heart squeezes, still. I can’t face it anymore.