Scared Poem by Edwina Reizer

This pain I’ve had for two long weeks
is excruciating in my whole arm.
And try as I might to think positively
it still sets off an alarm.

The alarm says, “Maybe it’s here permanently
and I’ll have to stop my writing.”
God forbid that should happen.
For nothing would be as exciting.

To write for joy and play my songs
is as thrilling as it gets for me.
Nothing else in my present life
can compare with creativity.

I once wrote that the worst thing that could happen
was if I were to lose my sight.
I take that statement back now for I know
even if blind I could still play and write.

But without my arm, without my hand
I’d walk away silently into the night.