"Swollen," A Poetry Post

Hey Ma.
My foot is swollen.

I knew ten years ago
when I threw my
big black girl's hips around in them
two and three inch heels that
today,
around 3 p.m.,
my feet would be
swole.

I do not regret my sashay.
Rather,
I appreciate the delicious rebound
I experienced with
every click-clack step.

Yes,
I believe I
did that well.

My throat also sometimes swells.
I suppose I earned the ache with
all the noise I used to make.

Instead of listening or whispering I
yelled out my opinions
oh so often!

I do not regret my parleys.
Rather,
I appreciate the
sometimes ridiculous
youthful adrenaline I
indulged in.

And on my edgiest days,
my head aches.

There is no longer room for
endless runnings on,
late-night papers or
all night work sessions.

After thirteen hours,
it must be sleep.

And I'm okay with me,
while if it had been this way while I
was mid-sashay,
I might be bitter.

While,
if it had been like this in the midst of my
screaming out for change on
spoken word stages,
I might be livid.

While,
if it had been this way
while I was only focused on
being the world's storm,
I would feel guilty.

Today,
I am comfortable
addressing and
confessing my
frailties.

That is what makes me
more dangerous
than ever.

-T. D. James-Moss