The pain attacks my head,
sticking my eyes with needles,
making a cushion out of me.
My heart pounds,
my stomach lurches,
my throat becomes a summer meadow.
My feet want to stay still
but can’t stop moving.
glued to a chair by my dog,
waiting on him,
I have no option but to remain where I am until summoned,
staring at my phone,
willing it to ring.
by Rebecca L. Atherton
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