NaPoWriMo day 2

Hello all. This morning, I had a very brief manic episode. I’d missed out on a day of medication and, let me tell you, I won’t be doing that again. I was outright blissful for a short time, but then the withdrawal kicked in and I was lying on the bed, groaning and puking. This is the glamorous life of a mentally ill patient. Anyway, it means my writing has become quite disordered, so here’s my second poem of the month. I’m giving you this warning because it’s not very good and it makes little sense. It’s called One Morning I Woke Up Dancing. 

One morning I woke up dancing, and I was tested
clinically for why this had happened, in Manchester,
on a grey day from a bedroom whose windows were
barred, hidden deep from the buses, students,
taxis and hoi polloi who chattered in the streets
with their carefully pruned words. Laid on the bed
after a well-meaning friend had carried me, the dowsed
Ophelia, from the shower, naked, after crying and
blood had raised certain alarms. I was clamouring
against the current. Far away from home, far away
from Paris too. Nights came in with abandon, days
were blithe. A high fever twisted my bones into a
burning wrack whilst the winter moon hushed over
the sky in a near-Christmas light. Everything was
broken. I woke up again to Summer in Colne,
working hard in the gym and testing my heart rate,
the speech of my ancestors trilling like an ice-cream
van’s song, playfully placing me in the geography
of a land I will never visit. I felt flies swat against
my skin, irritating and low, and the sound of
speeding cars. One morning, I woke up dancing
and I didn’t stop for a whole year.

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1 comment
  1. Makes so much sense to me. Thank you for letting it free. Brilliant.

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