Miles to the Bathroom

A poem for how I feel most mornings, during the colder months.

My rubber band skin is stretched too tight today. 
Every sound plucks at me like broken guitar strings. 
Stomach knots anticipating subway strangers 
rubbing against my nerves like cricket legs; 
Like rattlesnakes vibrating against my skull, 
Or some panicked animal, burrowing.

I was asked to still go in to work, 
Despite this burning knot in my back. 
Despite my angered, tugging skin, 
The bed sheets tethered tightly to my ankles, 
The salt-burns in my eyes. 
This anvil where my head should be...

“Be an adult and get up, Kalima. You can't miss another meeting.
Get up and do not let them down again.” I shove my body forward.
Toothbrush. Towel. Clean washcloth from the drawer.
I sink back down to the bed; It is still miles to the bathroom.

I move the blackout curtains to the side for help,
But it is raining. And so am I.