Sick

It was April
When we heard the thunder roll
Scurried into our yellow raincoats
Laughter cascading in splashes
And all the sky screamed
A storm is coming

It was April
When my hands hit the keys
Slender fingers running
From so many things

It was April
When my sister carried me to the car
Wrapped in blankets and still shaking
Blurred streetlights and hidden stars
But even the nurses said
It was nothing

It was April
When they wheeled me down the corridor
Sunken eyes, pale face
I tried so hard
Just to be healthy

And this silly printed piece of paper
Pinned to our bulletin board
Outlining a disease, like I am so easily definable
Like I am just a sheet with ink
Doesn't give me back April
Or October, or November or December
It just reminds me that I am broken
I can't be fixed.