VIRUS

I once had a fever so high, I was left to my bed for 7 days. There was a man, Standing on my mattress with a shovel Lifting chunks out of it angrily. He wiped his brow and his sweat Collected in the divots of my blanket And made a little pond. A scum pond, With talking frogs and lily pads. The pond grew deeper as the man dug harder and sweated. I was drowning. A goldsh swam up my throat and flopped around in my mouth. I clenched my jaw and tossed and turned in the scum pond. White and gray algae blinding me, And filling my nose with fuzzy mold. I tried to scream and retrieve the fish from the back of my mouth. I was choking. I tried to kick, but the man was standing on my legs. His weight was too much to bear And I feared that shovel would dismount onto my head And split my skull if I provoked him any more. I tried to yank the sh out again but it struggled. It attached its jaws to the opening of my throat and it would not budge. I yanked. And I screamed. And my mother came rushing into the room, tripping over her feet. I was trying to rip out my tongue. She fixed my blankets. She stroked my hair that stuck to me like cotton candy dissolving in water. I wanted to cry but feared I’d fill the pond again. When my fever broke, I realized the man and the fish were all a dream, And so was she.