Time Out – for Laughter

I’ve stopped giving time - a space. Yet it gobbles up my few.
A foreign map, my face – traitor falsifying my heart truth
Neither are the way I had pictured this in my head.
PD confiscated - distorted, even my “instead”s.

What passes as body – human (see exhibit A)
It’s broken and stupid. - Me, I have run away.
Thoughts scatter like dry leaves - ‘ Trying to gather up the good
So many are left on the trees – hours disappear, clock moves.

Tension as stretched rubber band – my feet to the floor are nailed
Are those really my hands? PD layers spill from pail.
My grandchildren’s entrancing laughter - fills me with eternity
where PD doesn’t matter – time floats and love sets me free.


08/30/12 copyright by April Curfman All rights reserved
(PD = Parkinson’s Disease)