Late Autumn
I know your sister worries.
She thinks my illness will make
a nurse out of you,
that I have nothing
to give. It’s true
I suffer. You are certain
this will pass.
Today we take the train
north. I nudge you to look out
as rows of houses undulate
against the changing landscape.
*
Elizabeth Wilson is a tap dance enthusiast, chronic illness advocate, and Rising Voices of Narcolepsy speaker living in the North Carolina mountains. Her poems have appeared in Asheville Poetry Review, Clementine Unbound, Cold Mountain Review, and Trouvaille Review.
