Pythagorean's Theorem

I am a blind women waiting for a sign,
my body throbs with the scent of nicotine.
I cut off my senses and ignore
that I want things that I shouldn’t.
I push it away from my skin,
and warn “don’t come in if
you can’t control yourself.”
I separate my body from the urge-
because maybe then I’m not dependant.

I learn about Asperger’s syndrome
and help to nurse a young boy’s confidence.
For a window of time I think about nothing else-
I leave my ghost calling in the corridor;
because maybe I’m too busy to save myself.
I believe I can write myself again,
that a pen is all I need for resuscitation.
I only trespass into surgery;
to watch another person’s life
balance on the line of living and dead.
And stare down at my lined paper
my shaky hands don't know what to do.

And the fear of sinking into thick black ink,
isn't as real as watching him fight to control his own demons.
So we draw and he sketches his fears onto paper-
he writes the rules of Pythagorean’s theorem;
over and over until it is just words,
falling like memory into place.
And I forget all about my own doubts;
because me + him + a sheet of A4 paper
is the solution for us both today.