The Cycle
Written November 21, 2017
It used to be a signal,
a symbol of progress,
the marks of my age
like rings in a tree
all circling back to
hope.
But one day it was gone.
Inexplicably, yet not quite
miraculous,
and I didn’t miss the ache but
I did miss that certainty
that certainly
I would never have to question
myself.
And then
it reappeared by force,
a signal of past poisons,
a symbol of my disability,
the mark of what should be
hoped for
but won’t be because
the cycle is broken and therefore
so am I.
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