Close to death, I lost consciousness;
the thorns waited for me
like a fox waiting to pounce upon a chicken.
Even as my brain swelled and bled,
somewhere it was still fighting;
the thorns waited for me.
I awoke one day;
I was aware of every thought, every action;
the thorns waited for me;
I retreated to the safety of a life in limbo,
evading the senseless reality I faced.
I could not embrace the journey that awaited me,
and the thorns waited for me,
and they waited.
Weeks went into the journey,
and they turned into months,
into years; and the thorns waited;
I used the thorns to feel again,
so they waited for me.
And I put one foot in front of the other
to resume the journey;
to complete the journey;
to make the waiting thorns useful,
and the thorns became my steppingstones.
First published in The Altadena Poetry Review: Anthology 2017.


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