Two Months Now

I have heard descriptions of pain
that radiates, pain that ricochets,
pain that flares like the hot tip
of a match stick. Aches and throbs,
and sharp stabs all move, go sight-
seeing from ligaments to squishy
organs to the tissues straining around
joints. Movement would be a relief,
maybe, from this bloated animal that’s
lodged its obese body between my spine
and tailbone. It refuses to wriggle
or unwind talons from tender marrow.
Fear of  this pain presses the rest of my body
against the mattress every morning, until
I muster enough anger to wrestle both lower
limbs and my torso to an upright position.
The weight of it is twisting me sideways
and down. Down.

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