the meaning of feeble
during the day
august in mid-heat,
i learn the meaning
of the word feeble.
early
in the morning, my uterus
(size of a pear) felt the crush
of an unborn baby's hands. my forearms
and feet chilled, blood rushed
to the whorl of furious strain
in my belly. i've learned that
bearing the pain like the ancients
conveys little relief in this era
of disbelief — brings no rain,
no endorphins flooding to obliterate
the ache of arched smooth muscle.
i reached for the bedside cabinet,
no liquor, instead a motley of pills,
liquids, creams. a box of children's
grape-flavored throat lozenges. pills,
prescription strength ibuprofen
from my operation. a tube of hemorrhoid
cream, a common curse of pregnancy. there!
the blue-boxed menstrual formula, thank
god, take enough and i would feel
like walking among seraphims.
mid-day
now, leaning, lethargic in
my chair at work, my mind is dazed,
drifting; my body, feeble, while
the slightest arm movement or twitch
of finger saps my physique of animation,
the reserves empty. every word has
visual connotations — i envision a
feeble old man; a sick patient: feeble;
a wounded soldier, gashed and feeble; a dog
with tire marks, twitching yet feeble;
a woman after being beaten, feeble. myself:
bleeding, drugged, feeble, progressively
weaker and afraid that if i stand up and
move anywhere, i might faint.
later
after work, i scrounge a free roll left in the staff room
and walk, breathing heavily, past the main plaza outside.
behind the construction fences, i see a medium-sized tractor,
heavy metal, weighty, thick, full tires, blunt scoop. who
could have thought of designing such a machine, its tread
and maw churning through generations of life, seed,
bringing death across this giving earth.