in coats

i was really busy and then i
got really sick and there
was even a time on monday
when i felt the darkness coming
in over my eyes like a sweep and
a presence and there were lanes
of cars on the road going faster
and faster until we were speeding
through subsequent tunnels, one
after the other, brighter and
brighter. no! i shouted pressing
my eyelids to my face, i can't
go yet. and i saw his face and he
was touching mine saying "sweetie,
you're gonna have to brave."
they gave me shots and i can't
remember the doctor's face
he had a mask on and no one
would really listen to me. i
couldn't pick up the phone all the
strength in my arm was gone. and i
remember thinking "fuck you, sylvia.
you cursed me with your hospitals and
your writer's block and your hysteria."
and now i've been in my bed for
the last three days, where i drool
at night because i can't swallow
and one tonsil is taking over
the rest of my throat and people
say things like "i don't want to
be near you." which i understand
but it still hurts. the vicodin
helps my pain and if it didn't
make my tummy feel woosy i would
enjoy it making my head feel
woosy but it gets ruined when you
feel you're gonna puke. i'll put
them in a drawer. i just wish
i'd been writing all this time,
when i was busy but i think
los angeles is changing me.
i'm certain of it. it's a love
and then it's a hate and most
days i'm ready for the bay and
the cold air and heady hills
and walking to class in coats
and being a regular at la trieste
and being close to my family.
i want the orange leaves in
october and the lights of market
street at christmas and long
evening walks one arm hooked
in the others cold red noses
and happy quick paces talking about
scripts and music and countries
and philosophy. i'm ready i'm ready
oh, i'm ready.