So Is This Mess

(a poem by yours truly - I have a lot of these... It is what I do when prednisone insomnia strikes!)

There are endless chores.
I forget the laundry; suddenly the hall is full,
Demands spilling out from a hostage war.
I try to find satisfaction in the Doing,
Since it will never ever Be Done.
Things seem so bad I try to swallow without chewing.
I spend a while pretending to be the Housework Heroes:
Snow White, Penelope. Grandma Sofie.
I reject them in favor of one and zeroes.
Empty Hollywood friendships--GIFs--Tumblr...
These are my country's best exports. (It used to be tobacco.)
My joints are growing feebler.
My energy waxes and wanes nothing like the moon.
(Predictable! Beautiful!) I grow weary of Plans.
I catch a cold and know I won't Get Well Soon.
Cold becomes Cough becomes Bronchitis
And three months of Nyquil becomes Me.
I play hooky like I have Senioritis,
Doing "home days." The worst is forgetting my meds...
Oh meds, how I love thee! Let me count the ways!
Other suitors are paraded before my bed:
Energy Bracelets, Bee Venom, Herbs, Worms, Diet Change...
I smile, nod, court them all, but never divorce my D-MARDs.
My child leaps into my arms. I strive for a peaceful exchange,
Reminding him to be gentle because Mommy's in pain.
He kisses my heart and assures me he can help;
A simple hand-transfer of energy like a magic flame
Shall kill my arthur-itis and cure me!
The darling faith of it flares my heart, and I remember
Why diagnosing was so hard. You see,
When caring for him, my pain seemed meaningless.
And now that I remember, I look around the house.
I realize that so is this mess.

Lacey Kaplan-Coleman