Pain

“On a scale of one to ten?” the doctor asks. Not good at estimating, I say “five,” since I’d never exaggerate with “ten” or demur with “one.” “What kind of pain?” he proceeds. ”Sharp? Dull? Ache? Another adjective?” I know grammar well and search for the right word, but even a Thesaurus couldn’t help. “It just hurts,” I offer unhelpfully. He throws back a grunt. Later, I resort to Google, and there it is: “Searing.” The perfect word for my aggravated IT band that frenzies my outer thigh and sends me from chair to chair begging for release. But what good is knowing a word if it doesn’t offer remedies? I’ll settle for whimpering to my dried-out house plants and to the robins plucking worms from our wet lawn. “Hurts. Hurts. Hurts,” I’ll groan and leave it at that.

Crows evacuate
their fire-seared Douglas firs.
Grass offers relief.