Creeping

I can't picture her or what she looks like. I do try, now don't I? I try to feel the touch on my hips. I remember. I feel the fight with myself as oozing grey creeping up on me again. Feet, ankles, knees, torso—rising up, up, up, trying to relieve me of my power. And damnit if I never thought it would. And damn me for being human!

By Erika L. Ganier