The Ordinary - a poem

I don't have to fly --
I can go slowly
About the business of living
An ordinary life.

I find myself sitting in the same position
For long moments at a time.
With my hand cupped over my mouth,
Shoulders tense --
Or hands clenched in my tight lap.

I wash the dishes.
Take a soapy brush to white shoes, dirty from wearing.
Then stand against the counter
Arms folded around my ribs;
Fear a wad in my chest.
I don't know what to do with my hands.

I carry laundry to the basement,
Hear voices calling from players in the park
A block away
While young men ride by with their children
on bicycles in the summer sun.

This is the beginning
Of an ordinary life.