Inertia by Jane Kenyon

My head was heavy, heavy;

so was the atmosphere.

I had to ask two times

before my hand would scratch my ear.

I thought I should be out

and doing! The grass, for one thing,

needed mowing.

Just then a centipede

reared from the spine

of my open dictionary. lt tried

the air with enterprising feelers,

then made its way along the gorge

between 202 and 203. The valley of the shadow

of death came to mind

inexorably.

It can’t be easy for the left hand

to know what the right is doing.

And how, on such a day, when the sky

is hazy and perfunctory, how does it

get itself started without feeling

muddled and heavy-hearted?

Well, it had its fill of etymology.

I watched it pull its tail

over the edge of the page, and vanish

In a pile of mail.

Jane Kenyon