Awake in bed
I cannot move,
I’ve not the strength
for what I would.
I’m old and weak,
cold in my bones,
I cannot turn
or hold the phone.
If I cry out
someone may come
and turn my form,
drape off the sun.
I wait for spoon,
wait for the cup
for by myself
I cannot sup.
Someone must push
my arm through sleeve
or that dropped sock,
kind one retrieve.
I cannot choose
what I will wear,
I cannot brush
my teeth or hair.
Old friends long gone,
kin not inclined
to sit and talk,
to spend some time.
My mind plays tricks
with sanity,
it shows me things
my eyes don’t see.
I wait for drink
or other need,
give no advise
for no one heeds.
As here I lie
in bed of pain,
it’s Christ in me
stretched out again.
first published in Burning Bush e-zine
also published in AllPoetry.com
©2000 Bonnie Manion