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Return to "The Faces of CFS" Index
Fermez La Porte (Close the Door)
Who knows what goes on behind closed doors
The door to my bedroom remains closed a lot
And when I hear the phone ring in the distance
I hear a quiet reply that says, "She's sleeping."
Momentarily I become conscious again only
To roll over and gaze once more at my closed door.
My bedroom door squeaks when it closes and
Creeks when it's opened for brief moments
When I creep to the bathroom to get a drink
Take a pain pill--sit and think about nothing
Important beyond my space/only visions of life
Before I was sick: a dynamo hummingbird chick
The speedo who could out ski everyone she knew
And dance the night away with grace & finesse
The researcher who loved knowledge & data
The gal with the briefcase filled with ideas
The woman, the wife, the activist par non
Behind her now are the battles she's won.
And so she retreats to her bed each day at three
To strategize how to beat pain here and there
As it moves up and down her spine everywhere
The door closes tight, the drapes are drawn
It's quiet and dark, neither night nor dawn
Somewhere between then and now I lie down.
Mimi Trudeau
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