In this House with Fever

In this house with fever,
cabin fever,
I am like a photon
at the sun’s core
seeking escape, but since
the surroundings are so dense,
I bump and ricochet
off helium nuclei
for a hundred thousand years
before I am free to gain
space.
I desire the outside;
I am want for spring breezes
for leaves of grass
for the chance to read Whitman
without the walls closing in.
Antsy, nervous, jumpy
me, impatient as a spill,
so claustrophobic,
son of vitamin D.
Outside is Eden
as I peer through prison
bars, the concrete cracked
the ceiling stark
the flooring cold and dank.
No warden entertains my pleas.
The lights go out,
the air so dry,
I have no mouth
and I must scream.


30 Lines
Writer’s Cramp Winner
1-29-16