I text my yoga teacher: I think I need
to start medication. I meant
meditation, but the subconscious
knows best. I once wrote a whole poem
about the angel of penetration
rather than admit in my haste
I meant angle of penetration.
Either way, a virgin ascends.
I return a can of paint to the store
because I can’t manage any more
pain, I meant paint. I mean pain.
I keep going back for pain samples
I don’t need. I have gallons of different
shades stored in the basement. Enough
for a fresh coat every year. I don’t take
the medication. There’s nothing worse
than a dull coat of pain. I prefer it
bright and sharp.
Copyright © 2025 by Deborah Hauser. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on June 6, 2025, by the Academy of American Poets.
