1, 2, 3 breathe in, breathe out
up the ladder my fingers go.
I step closer to the wall
closer than last week
walk my fingers up, up, up
like the itsy bitsy spider
until my shoulder screams STOP!
A 30ish man in the corner
with an Aggie baseball cap, Gig ‘Em!
is making all the assistant girls
laugh with his talk of purple carrots
and something about rows of corn
“Look it up on Amazon,” he says.
And now I’m flat on the table
lifting a bar with 5 lb weights
way up and back, back, back
as far as I can go behind my head
breathing in, breathing out, 1, 2, 3.
An old lady’s next to me-
her husband, pushed to the limits,
walks away with an exasperated sigh
she stares at the ceiling, nonplussed.
There are popsicle sticks up there-
one says Dr. Payne, shows stars
and I think about the spasm
in my heart that will never go away
no matter how I breathe.
Written for dVerse OpenLinkNight