I am Horizontal by Jill Berrett

I am not a silent poet

I am horizontal

not as in having my body etched by the movement of sand as I rest after furious waves

nor as in absorbing chlorophyll  from  newly mown grass as I lie with my book

there is no photosynthesis for me,

no luxury lies in my lying.

I am not covered in clouds or staring at stars.

I am propped and pinioned, padded by pillows, muscles and joints

soothed, softened by silver grey cushions.

You may say this is a strange life, yet I share it with millions.

We are rocky outcrops scattered.

We are your hidden minority.

We are the disappeared, not by war or revolution,

nor by famine or hunger

but by viruses, bugs, bacteria,

by caring and loving,

by throwing ourselves in front of the tanks.

If you want to seek us out, go look in beds, on sofas, on floors, in hospitals, in darkened rooms…

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