Mind Over Matter, by Adrienne Hahne
I’d been ill for months, hawking up phlegm,
off school nearly a year. It drove Mum nuts.
They’d added a sunroom to our house.
I’d been moved there for the light,
repotted like a plant, chlorophyll starved.
Housebound, cocooned in cushions on the couch,
boredom stifled my mind.
I complained, non-stop, forced to stay put.
A therapist was called in “You can’t go out,”
she said, “but you can leave in your head.”
I thought she was mad.
“Shut your eyes, trace a track and see where it leads.”
I tried and it worked.
I skipped up a path of feathery bush,
glistening ferns unfolded, bowed to make room.
Bell birds broke in with sharp song,
the cacophony of frogs keen to mate,
as they plop into ponds.
I etched butterflies in sand, sniffed flowers,
turned up life under stones,
wrote poems, webbed tales, whistled tunes.
Bees hummed along,
joined the fun.
I pocketed these scenes.
bring them out when I’m down.