Practising Your Skills

Summary

I woke and my arm had died in the dark.

I shook it awake,

Waiting for pink plush to resurface.

You always said I had a tendency to catastrophise everything;

I've decided to escape from myself.

On the high shelf behind a jar I let a spider work.

You insist on holding up my elbow as an exhibit,

You're using interrogative pronouns and Latinate speech.

Look into my eyes and tell me about the semi-lunar

Notch of the Ulna.

I want to tell you about the elegant savagery of my spider.

Instead I sit you close whilst I sketch an incoherent moon.