My world…

is the pen on this page,
the book on the bed,
speck of fluff on the sheet,
pillow propped up,
one of my stray hairs caught
blowing on the stream of heat from the radiator.
My world is this small space
everything controlled,
heat, light, comfort –
propped up on elbows
or flat on belly,
one bed spring poking into leg.
Outside things go on as normal,
while I am controlling my world
you are giving birth to yours,
or making love to it, or dinner for it
or ending it.
Gladly that is not mine today.
Today my world is this space
and the itch in my right leg.

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