Count Poem by Sarah Jane Black

I could no longer wait-
The wait for those months kept
Weaving into the
Pattern of an endless
Shawl.

This time was a time of heavy
Boots on my chest
Of clenched knuckles,
Ground teeth,
And hand marks
On the span of my face

There was nothing I could do—
I fretted.
To console myself I
Became numb to time
Only letting myself live
In a limbo that many
Souls had passed through
Before, but not
Survived.

It was a blatant regret
to know that I had reached that place.
I was wound;
Graying at the hair
And crinkling like a
Worn piece of paper—
Yet I was young.
Time escaped me...

Now
That the object of my waiting
Is passed,
I still have the disease;
The one where I age like a mote of dust,
Crumbling to the rotten floor.
To comfort myself,
A spell has come over me:
Count one—
Breathe.
Count two—
Draw in a smile.
Count three—
Weep.
Count four—
Pray.
Count five—
Repeat.