I Have Rheumatoid Arthritis

and fight every step, every breath 

to heave laundry up and down 

four flights, a human dumbwaiter.

No pity party here. I have walked 

on fire, galloped bareback on rocks.

Give me pills, needles, answers 

for my sons. I require more than miracles. 

I used to practice yoga. 

Hold me while I bend back.

I want love with every part 

as detailed in the Kama Sutra. 

Let me swim in a swollen river 

of synovial fluid. 

Don’t tell me I’m sick.  

Say my tennis game is sick.

Hit me hard and I’ll hit back, 

use these red hot fingers 

to return every shot.

And when I just can’t,

read me this poem.