Getting Up

I’ve been there when the mirror shows
a face I barely recognize.
When the pain of movement or even
thinking about the effort it would take
to move the muscles necessary to get up
is excruciating. I have imagined
a thousand ways to disappear. I know
the dark as intimately as I know
my own hands. And yet it is tomorrow.
The sun is actually shining off the snow.
My legs are carrying me without complaint.
I hold my cup of tea like a communion
with a force greater than myself.
Cheers, I whisper, to those gone
who may or may not hear me.
The sound of morning is sharp
but not as piercing as yesterday.
I ache but it’s a living ache, not a dying one.

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