The days drag out,
Unbroken by sleepless nights,
And a bone-deep,
Brain-deep,
Gut-deep
Weariness.
Restless,
Uncomfortable,
But too tired
And too spent
To give to where I am and what I’m doing.
After the sun goes down,
I pace, despite the fatigue,
And let my imagination run in the dark,
To satiate that squirm beneath my skin,
Even if only briefly.
I gently place the needle on the record,
And strip down to a slip,
The sound of vinyl humming over my bare skin,
In a caress as intimate as the satin I wear,
And there it is-
Apparent,
Immobilizing,
And I know-
I have to satisfy it.
At first, just a sway,
Side to side,
Left to right,
Rocking front and back,
One foot,
Then another,
And spinning,
I’m swinging,
Rolling,
Working muscles that hadn’t moved
In what felt like years.
From my bare toes,
To my stiff neck,
To my tingling fingers,
I unravel that itch,
And dance.
Leaping
Twisting
Grinning from ear to ear,
I move like it’s the first time anyone has ever moved,
And I shake off the whole day,
The whole week,
Every worry,
Every word that weighs on me,
I dance,
Until my shoulders feel no burden,
And the ache is thrown from me,
In the shake, rattle, and roll of dance.
My feet don’t stop until the soles blister,
And my arms don’t still until the sockets are weak,
Until my fatigue is true,
And not the creeping,
Crawling
Drain on my bones,
On my soul,
On my everything.
Until the tired makes me smile with gratifying exhaustion,
And my sheets are a reprieve
And not a ritual,
And my body can rest,
Now that the itch is gone.
