Did it snow this winter? I can’t
remember watching flakes fall
from my armchair but really,
wrapped in recovery,
I was not here.
It was hot last summer. I remember
roasting watching the football,
sweating walking into town for
drinks to help me forget that
I was too much here.
I’ve spent sporadic seconds each
season wondering what the point
is in seeing the next one if illness
and fear is all there is for me, if
nothing I expected to happen
is waiting for me, wishing
I wasn’t still here.
Summer is slinking around again and
the bio oil I rub on my scars smells
like a Floridian hotel in a way I can’t
quite identify, but is surely a metaphor
for how Orlando in four seasons’ time
can heal, can erase, can smooth out,
can soften me, can help me remember
why I am still here.