Amid the crowd
And all the stimulation
Anxiety begins to mount
Triggering that tremor
And limiting my choice.
A busy Sunday filled
With happiness
Friends and feasting
Food in plentiful abundance
And yet I cannot trust this
Unsteady hand
To deliver morsel
To my mouth
The shaking in full swing
A balanced plate
Is not an option
Trying harder never helps
A phantom feeling
Tries to speak.
None know the cause
There is no cure
It is encoded in my genes
This sly companion
Insisting that I leave unfed.
– jml (9/2003)
