Where is my comfort?

 I seek comfort in my heating pad

When there is no body to warm my back.

I crave comfort in those early treats served to sooth a hurt:

A cookie, a piece of cheese, buttered bread.

My mouth opens like a baby bird’s

To foods that no longer serve me,

With flavors lasting only moments.

I whimper for the comfort of strong arms in a hug

And lips to whisper across mine.

I seek comfort in activity: a play here or a dance there

Sitting on organizational boards somewhere, everywhere

Until I sicken from too much thinking,

From being too responsible,

From keeping up the false face of ease.

Comfort then becomes my bed, my bath, my couch.

Silence and solitude,

Alone and self-attended.

Comfort, I am learning,

Is like happiness.

It’s an inside job.

Earlene Gleisner

From “That’s the Spirit” (a work in progress)

January 2015