Copyright ©1997, Christine

I stick my tongue out at the mirror to see what it looks like. It tells me how my liver is functioning. On bad days new symptoms catch me in a spin of fear where I can't find my way out, once again. My family is exhausted. My illness gives them no peace. The cripples, the beggars, the sad and lonely, gather outside my glass cage. All who suffer the stigma of illness, each unaware of the other's suffering, yet we gather together like atoms that attract.

I wait for release from the idea that I am useless and meaningless. They congregate before me that I might whisper the answer when I find out how it's done.