Wildwood--On Being Ill
by Cornelia Blair

To be ill
is to fall silent
to forsake firm designs
grow motionless
unearth a thicket of the mind
pitch into
the teeming pond
within its woodlands.

To be ill is to
be a ghost unseen by others
amidst the tangle.
As you lay your face
upon a pillow,
illness evaporates the
future one
moment at a time.

To be ill is to soften
to follow the tenuous vine
through the chaff to
the wellspring in the bramble
to know quaking
entertain rage
barter with death
to glimpse courage in the golden canopy.

To be ill is to battle
until the mysteries of mortality
crack you open
spilling your softness
upon the world.

Illya's Honey Literary Journal

Copyright by Dallas Poets Community. First Rights Reserved. All other rights revert to the authors.