Yes, you realized the affliction
of surging years
when I woke to find
I could not move but moved
to make children toast,
send them out the door
to other rooms in other buildings.
Yes, you could alleviate
the flashes when
I curled under my desk
and did not want to rise
ever again, except that ever
shoved, jabbed, needled. Sweating,
I rose from crumpled papers.
Flush, I turned to wash chicken.
Slice the breast into pieces.
Every day that day. Every
year until the fever of age
evaporated into missed. Yes,
small comfort was enough.