Hard to do, not hard to tell

At five-thirty in the morning, the busses start to leave
the station down the street, one a minute–
I might as well get up. My sleep was disturbed–
I slept curled up, tensed up, protective,
and now I am sore on waking from the effort.

Right before I woke, I had a dream about being sick
and being in the hospital, and being discharged.
The whole time I was there I was checking
my email and worrying about work.
I relapsed, and had to go back after leaving.

It’s not hard to tell what my body and brain
are telling me, sending me, cramping me.
But turning knowing into doing, and doing
into acceptance, into finding a new place,
a new way, a new life? That’s the hard part.

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