When I am Sick

I am sick;
I’ve been making thousands of eggs and sandwiches.
Slicing onions, greens, paprikas,
bananas, gymnasts,
jugglers,
and tricyclists,
as if I could digest a thing apart –-
-- from frustration,
desperation,
and regression; 
that’s right, I’m sick

Last night I washed my thick curls of hair
in your bath tub.
Sitting topless in a chained closet
where I reached the deepest point of the seven seas. 
I couldn’t breathe, but
I slept with him in it
because I was (and still) sick.

You there, you see --
I have a pair of oddly dizzy eyes
with salted sandwiches and
a chronic dermatitis.

How I wish I could see this planet as I –-
used to when I
was a small, soulless kid;
a young nitwit;
a teenage conformist.

Looking forward to a vacation
which will take place in the next two weeks.

Watching the complete series of British comedies
set in the 80’s.
Eat to pass lonely minutes.
Still laughing like I’d never done this
when I am sick.

Dying inside.
Blind and partially
Americanized.
Sometimes, just sometimes, I truly wish
that I could have picked
a different place and time

To live
To regret
And to sleep

when I am sick.
.
.
.
[Does anyone want a sandwich?]

 

Chiang Mai, Thailand

Thipwalee Srimaphan (known as ‘Kim’) is originally from Chiang Mai, Thailand. She is a published poet, freelance writer and translator. You can find her at http://kimthipwalee.wordpress.com