Life’s funneled down to a knee.
Packs of peas.
Thoughts of funerals.
“Don’t be so dramatic. Total knee replacement surgery’s common, like the cold.”
Well, it’s uncommon to me.
You’re a wimpy whiner.
Get a grip.
Take some pills or a deep breath.
It’s Palm Sunday, for crying out loud.
Where’s a palm frond when you need one?
Something to wave, to lift in praise, whether I feel like it or not.
A knee slowing bending, aching out a prayer of sorts to the Holy Healer.
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