Fear Reaches me in the familiar ring of my name, spoken by my half dead mother
High
On prescription meds and daytime television
Resentful
Because my skin clings to my bones and I have no good reason to smile
Fear reaches me in the off-white glow of the grocery store
Packed
With people waiting in line
For
Antibiotic-free, boneless chicken that’s on sale for this week only
Fear reaches me in the stuffy warmth of my car
Headed
For a room full of husbands in white shirts
Who
Desperately wish something about them was still beautiful
Fear reaches me in the creaking cradle of my chair
Spinning
Around to ask a dumb question
About
Something someone already told me but I just can’t remember
Fear reaches me in the sinking springs of my queen-size bed
Wet
From a dream about another kind face I only saw
Once
On my way to see my mother