very little is unexpected.
I am used to shouting into fields,
where the only acknowledgement
comes from the nodding of distracted flowers
moved by the whims of the wind.
What is unexpected
is that even when you know
what the weight of tired is
down to the ounce,
and are intimately acquainted
with how it grows
and compounds over time,
the physical dividends
still manage to bring unwilling gasps of pain
even when you know it’s coming.
|Photo by Anh Nguyen on Unsplash|
Song Choice: Unwell covered by Jimmie Allen
This poem was created for the Weekly Scribblings prompt at Poets and Storytellers United: Well, That Was Unexpected.