Sometimes it's easy to convince myself that the doctors were wrong
that these cantankerous muscles that scream at me in the middle
of the night are just missing the bananas that I didn't have time
to eat each morning
My toes curl and I can feel my calf separating from the bone
All I know to do is stand up
Keep moving, walking around on the smooth wood floor, craning my neck to see out, pushing my face against the cold glass of the bathroom window
looking for stars falling against that blue-ink sky
Thinking there is one more wish to make
and the wish always has to do
with more time
I want time more than I want anything
Time to waste on foolish things
Wandering new places
Sunday mornings of not much
To read
To write
To paint
To hold those that I love close
God, how I hate the idea of losing track
That look that my girls give me when I have said the same thing over and over
Just to make a point
Sometimes distracting them from the fact that I can't stand up without tilting over
I lean into them just as I lean towards the window
looking for the bright spot in the sky,
certain that a star will appear.
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