In Praise of the Sick Day
A poem by Morrow Dowdle
In Praise of the Sick Day
And when fatigue turns to exhaustion,
and when throat tingle turns to full-on hack,
and when crushing ache takes the head and limbs,
and when balance falters, and eyes wince at slightest light—
then, you will take it.
You will master your guilt.
In the past, you have sat at your desk pale
and weak, prayed not to vomit on your patients’ feet.
You talked with them all day though you could hardly speak.
Today, you will do none of that.
You will text your boss and forget the rest.
Today, you will make no diagnosis, write no prescription.
Absence is not forsaking—for once, you will be your own patient.
You will take this gift of illness.
You will let dishes pile, clothes go unfolded.
The mail will wait in its metal box. You will set aside
even phone, book, and Netflix. And you will take the sick day,
take it to your bed like you are twenty
and at the pinnacle of health. You will roll
in the grip of chills and 102.3 degree fever, the way
you rolled with your lovers then, sweat permeating linens
in someone’s borrowed bed, not caring
about stains on the duvet. No pack of Parliaments
on the bedside table, just tea, Tylenol, sugar-free Ricolas.
Leave the lamps off and blinds cinched, outside weather irrelevant.
Tomorrow, the tasks undone will crash
down on you. Today, stay unwashed and undressed,
let your hair mat against your cheek. Let the room stay
silent and sour musk bloom. Let it soon be over. Let it come again.

About the Author:
Morrow Dowdle has poetry in or forthcoming from New York Quarterly, Pedestal Magazine, The Baltimore Review, and Poetry South, among others. They have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. They edit poetry for Sunspot Literary Journal and host “Weave & Spin,” a performance series featuring marginalized voices. They work as a mental healthcare provider and live in Hillsborough, NC. Find out more on Instagram @morrowdowdle
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January 8, 2024 at 7:29 AM
Amen for the sick day! Perfectly captured!
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