Bad Poetry for a Rainy Day - My thoughts in prose

Jazz is sliding like silk through the air.
Rain is dancing on pavement, like a drum.
The sun is so tucked away,
the house is like a cave.
I need a fire.
My vanity is kicking in, fiesty, but in check.
My hair is thinning, I prefer a wig.
My face is puffy, but so is my body, so they balance out.
My jeans protest my attempts to button them.
I don't care.
I've got jazz, and drip drip drippy rain of November.
Oh, and my breath. I've got my breath.
And good friends who are patient.
Birthday's overlooked while I huddle under covers,
waiting for nausea to pass.
And doctors who smile hopefully, proud of their work.
The thought of sitting around a Thanksgiving table is bittersweet.
Not this year.
But the thought of Thanksgivings past,
filled with laughter,
family frustrations,
and a good card game while the football games play,
well, the memory is celebratory enough for today.
The rain is beautiful,
against the last golden leaf on a bare birch tree.
I want to hug the world.

Jenna