Friends
--Maria Jastrzebska
1
thank god
for the small procession of friends
who knock on my door
bringing me flowers and newspaper cuttings
interesting books
or the wrong kind of apples
because I've forgotten to explain
which ones I like
friends who take the initiative
in supermarkets or at the grocer's
adding things to my list
forcing me to treat myself
to unexpected strawberries
or mango
friends who send me cards
from abroad
friends who go on believing
in my recovery
2
they seem
like circus dancers
daring and fast
everything they wear is brightly coloured
when they talk about their lives
I imagine them
somersaulting through the air
hanging by a silver thread
from the high wire
I think:
that's what I must have been doing
till I fell
and landed in this bed again
caught in the tangled nets
of illness
telling myself it could be worse
3
when they talk
the noise grazes my senses
so I know my body will tremble
for a long time
after they're gone
other times
they're the ones
who seem tired
they seem to find relief
in this quiet room
they move
into the huge, uncluttered spaces
in my diary and like it there
they can relax
knowing there's no need to perform
4
and then there's the ones
who say: I wouldn't mind being ill
just a little
--oh not like you of course--
but I can't afford to
as though this illness was a luxury
I can't stop
who else would take over
the kids, my job
who indeed?
as if they envied
this curtain
that comes down
so indiscriminately
that gets me out
of whatever it is
I never really wanted to do
and in the same sudden gesture
cuts me off
from all the tings
I long to do
this stillness
after the curtain's come down
this is how tired women
without a moment to themselves
define luxury
