Zebra Seeking Spoons

I thought comebacks were loud things—

confetti, finish lines, trumpets.

I didn’t know

they could be this quiet.

Sometimes a comeback

is simply getting dressed

without negotiating with your joints.

Sometimes it is a shower

that doesn’t feel like climbing a mountain,

or a morning

that doesn’t begin with bargaining.

I keep waiting for the old version of me

to walk through the door,

whole and uncracked,

holding all her spoons

like a bouquet.

But she isn’t coming.

Instead there is this new me—

patched together with heating pads

and calendars

and stubborn hope,

learning to stand up again

in smaller ways.

My comeback looks like

resting without guilt,

asking for help without shame,

laughing even when my body

has other plans.

It looks like soft victories:

a short walk,

a finished page,

a cup of tea held in steady hands.

There are days I feel erased.

There are days I feel rewritten.

Still, I rise—

not like a phoenix,

more like a determined zebra

with careful steps

and a pocketful of spoons.

My comeback is not a single moment.

It is a season.

And I am learning

that seasons return

even in bodies

that never feel like spring.

So I begin again.

Gently.

Stubbornly.

Bravely.

Over

and over

and over.