You’re the expertly nagging, stubbornly resident ghost
in my joints, often asleep, then back with a vengeance.
A jolt, just a dash, a wrath, a niggle. I motor on. You work
your wonders like a most temperamental Norse goddess,
ask for sacrifice, worship, the lot. I’m not a great fan.
You raise your harsh voice whenever you feel neglected.
‘This will hurt’, you snarl and reprimand. ‘What did you
expect?’ You, my excellent, nonchalant, chronic companion.
I traded, bartered, bargained for years, hoped for leniency.
There is no pleasing you. I remember the day long ago
when I first took us up a mountain top. Agony all the way!
Showed you a view you enjoyed so much you were willing
to negotiate. And that’s when I said: ‘Here’s the deal, love,
my cranky moany faced deity. Stay in my joints, if you must,
but let me take the two of us to places that make our hearts
go oooh and our souls join in with a hushed harmonious aaah,
all the way up and all the way down. I’ll show you the world,
if you turn down your huffing and puffing a notch or two’.
Sometimes this even works. Other times not so much so.
My dear Arthritis, I still feel, we have an agreement of sorts.
Britta Benson is a circus skills instructing German, a writer, performer and linguist thriving in Scotland, her chosen habitat since the year 2000. She runs a creative writing group, The Procrastinators, and writes a daily blog, Britta’s Blog – Letters from Scotland (brittasblog422041504.wordpress.com) as well as her poetry blog, Odds & Ends (oddsends707138946.wordpress.com). She also stares out of her window a lot and drinks far too much tea.