The anger shovels
at my insides
this is the opposite
of fainting
this is boiling over.
I swat at my own chest
trying to wipe off
this festering mood
as if it is an infestation
of ants.
I should go for a walk
meditate
write a letter
I won’t send
but instead my son wakes up
and I dance him
a deranged waltz
around our dining room.
He slaps his little hands against my cheeks
and squeals with delight
I turn the music up
and we dance and dance
until the anger
is obedient
again.