A Virus! A Virus!

Good morning, Cyberspace! Something rather fascinating and unexpected happened to me this past week.

I died.

Literally. I caught a flu and a cold at the exact same time, and I died. If you can imagine being clobbered in the stomach by Dominick the Italian Christmas Donkey and then shoved off a 40,000 foot precipice, only to land in a pile of mucus and chest congestion, then you can understand about 20% of how I felt over the weekend.

You might also understand, perhaps, why it is that I don’t really feel like putting a lot of effort into a blog post this week. (Note the unprofessionalism of the header image [and the pale, undead complexion of my skin fibers])

So, instead of ripping what’s left of my brain out trying to come up with something to write in one night, I would very much like to share with you another poem I wrote a couple weeks ago instead. This poem is a little bit different than the last one, but it’s still a poem that I am rather fond of. It’s free-verse, though, so it isn’t going to rhyme. It might take a couple verses to get accustomed to the weird un-rhymey-ness of it all, but I believe that this poem will help all of us–both the ill and those exuberating health–find the awful flu/cold/mucus globular thing in our noses a little bit more relatable.

You’re welcome.

The leaves are dry.

The air is crisp.

The earth is turning brown.

And in the air

A gentle nip

As summer says goodbye.

 

I loathe the days

Of warmth and light,

When concrete burns like ash.

With boiling suns

And shriveling heat,

And death ‘round every bend.

 

I much prefer

When days are cool,

And skin’s chaffed raw by wind.

When windows rattle

In their frames,

And cold shivers inside.

 

I ride upon

That freezing wind

And latch onto your skin,

And worm my way

Up to your nose

To wriggle on inside.

 

It’s warm and damp

And moist in here—

A jungle in a cove.

Each brush of air,

Each breath we share,

Makes me feel more at home.

 

That’s all I want—

That’s all I need—

A place where I belong.

I’m very small.

I’m minuscule.

You’ll never know I’m here.

 

But then it starts—

It always does.

Your nose begins to twitch.

A sneeze or two,

A drip of green

Mucus at the tip.

 

I burrow deeper

Down inside

And pray the illness pass.

There has to be

Another cause.

It can’t be me again.

 

But then congestion

Settles in,

And you can barely breathe.

You sneeze and sniff

And hack out large

Quivering globs of yellow-green.

 

Prickly spider,

Veins of fire,

Curling up your throat.

Raw and flamed,

Cracked and dry,

The symptoms soon explode.

 

I tried so hard

This time, I swear.

I don’t know what went wrong.

It seems no matter

Where I go,

This sickness tags behind.

 

“A cold,” you say.

“A bug. A flu.”

You speak it with such hate.

And do everything

Within your power

To kill what’s left of me.

 

A virus.

Such a nasty name.

Yet that’s all I am to you.

An intruder in

A sacred place,

Coursing sickness through your veins.

 

A virus. A virus.

I’m starting to feel weak

From pills of lemon,

Pills of blue,

And rocks of orange zinc.

 

A virus. A virus.

I guess the name rings true.

And now that you’ve

Betrayed my trust,

That’s all I’ll ever be.

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So what do you guys think? Are you currently feeling under the weather? Do you feel like you just got socked in the stomach? Do you prefer poems that rhyme, or free-verse? Are you currently asking yourself, “Why does she keep asking us these questions after every blog post?” I know I am…