Each morning they swim up through the pool of forgetfulness,

circle in darkness, catch

a glint of light in the east,

the edge of the world,

its curves holding everything in, breath,

water, thought,

belly.

They trouble

behind the mind’s eye;

the startle of a new pain—

I slowly ease myself up,

rolling across the cramped landscape of shoulder, arm, rib,

crane my neck

in the direction I would

go,

if

I could.

The world smirks by

but has no real words

for an older

woman.

Pimply boys

circle

impatiently,

believe they’re entitled

to whatever

was my turn.