Sickness

I spill spearmint tea
on the blue pillowcase
covering a cart’s whitespace
by my bedside.

I am reminded
of an open window,
where crickets pass secrets
and laughter beyond a toilet bowl.

Psst. One said.
Another evaporated to hahas.

It’s no secret I said:
God, just. Then I sighed.

I am ill.

Coughing.

Runny, stuffed up nose.

My right ear hurts a little.

I’m cold.

My body decided to explode.

No crickets, this isn’t funny.

Maybe you aren’t laughing at me.

Or at all.

Maybe you’re calling God

With the blessed song.

Your rubbing legs

A constant ring

He never tires answering.

I lie here a dial tone.

Unaware

Heaven’s

singing over me.

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