Act V Scene I

I Choose to Write a Poem

I choose to write a poem
when my left ankle's broken, purple, and my right ankle's swollen blue,
both knees banged, twice their usual size, both my long legs "killing me,"
while a famous angel is really killing me.
I separate physical pain from the real thing- the real thing, the soul usually dies
before the body. My soul is dancing, welcoming spring in the garden
on a beautiful June morning, ready to live forever.