A Mundane Pride (Clarification of Terms)

You woke up this morning
And even though your body
Felt like it had suffered a small death
In the dark, sleeping hours
You got out of bed.*

*(Bed: A location to sleep or relax. A resting place that is no longer a resting place, but a battle ground. No truce or treaty tethers the ghosts that pace around the perimeter of its frame. Just the suggestion of a threat straining for closure and resolution to a too-long siege on memory.)

You took a shower
And even though the pounding water
Echoed panic, panic, panic
Can't you see the world is flooding*
Go back to bed
You stepped out, shook yourself dry
And were clean.

*(Flooding: Present participle of flood where present particles of water surge in a seeking wave. A wave searching for the presence of landmines left behind as reminders that your land will never be mine and my land will never be yours. No common ground. No soil to foster a peace.)

You got dressed
And even though your reading hands
Said there was too much here
Or too little here
Or this stretch of skin just won't do*
You put your clothes on with
A mundane pride.

*(Do: Past tense: Do not give in. Present tense: Do not give out. Future tense: Do not give up)


You made breakfast
And even though your appetite
Felt like a loss of control*
You ate.
You felt your food hit the bottom of your stomach
And took comfort in the solid sound of the reverberation.
You are not the dark center of the universe
You think you are.

(Control: Synonym: Denial)

You went to work
And even though
The frantic sound of typing fingers
Sounded like the lurid language
Of frenzied dragonflies whose
Vocabulary consisted only of the words
Not good enough*
You made it through.
You were good enough.
Even if it was just for today.

*(Not good enough - direct translation: Giving up all hope for a better future)

You went home.
Undeservingly exhausted
You crawled back into bed
Pulled the covers over your head
Made no promises for tomorrow.
You measure your lifetime in days now
And there are still hours* left in this one.
There are still minutes left in this one.
There are still seconds left in this one.
And every tick of the clock is a step forward
On the lifelong road to recovery.*


*(Hour: How I measure the moments when your stretch of presence doesn't stalk my memory)
*(Recovery: A mundane pride in re-establishing a routine to increase the amount of hours that I feel good enough; in redefining control; in doing more than saying; in not becoming overwhelmed by the flood; in brokering a ceasefire with the ghosts in my bed -- ending the too-long siege on memory)