Black

Back when life was still young

Hair still black

Eyes still see

And mouth wasn’t yet a

Straw

I would sleep

And dreams would

Spill

Out of my ears

Wetting the pillow

With worlds

And words.

Back when legs

Weren’t wheelchair

And my hand

Still had a pen and not

Arthritis

Words would pour

Out of my fingertips

Soaking the paper

With imagination

But the sun had gone down

The black is here

Words dried up

Dreams

No longer pour

Out of me

Only medication

And tears.