Feeling wretched
with the flu
the last two days,
wanting so much
to do the pressing things
I had planned,
yet incapable
of doing them.
I am mindful
of people in Boston
who have been house-bound
for days. People who can’t work
or go to school. People who probably
can’t find their bird feeders
under the towering snow.
I am in touch with a friend
who lives in Boston.
She tells me that she has found
the hibernation
a creative time. Her words
are startling: I had forgotten
that I used to use time when I’m sick
for restoration,
for letting go
and just being. It was an involuntary
time to let my body heal,
my mind rest,
to connect with whatever it is
that breathes me.

When did I get so caught up
in all the things I do
that I can’t spend a few days
not doing them?
I almost missed my chance.
This snowy, sunny day
I will sneeze
and shiver
and ache
and sleep
and cough
and sink deeply
into nothing…
I will drink tea,
gentle myself,
watch the birds
and rabbits
for awhile.

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