Sometimes when the sky fills with a gray storm flurry
pelting me with hail and fail and impossibilities,
I slide from behind my laptop,
stiff from laboring in my seat,
My body chilled, but hands hot from pounding out words that find no purchase,
and throw on some spandex.
Then I face the floor and push it away,
arms burning,two, six, ten
The floor appears to be a wall that won’t move
but I keep pushing it away
soon, my arms have developed enough strength to lift
Back straight, eyes ahead
looking beyond that storm which is not
strong enough to hold me down.