"Fiddling With Pain"
The fiddler rosins up his bow,
long fingers curl around a block of blood
He plays a scale upon my nerves.
Always rising, never falling.
Fingering first here, then there.
Now a toe, now a knee.
Bow rubbing, scraping.
Now I feel it on my back
Reaching for my neck.
When the bow enters my skull,
Will I know the tune
Or will I become the tune?
Joyce Frohn has been a professional writer intermittently for more than ten years. The times she hasn't been writing she's been an exit poll taker, nursing home worker and a few odder jobs. She's fought depression with some success for as long as she can remember and has been making other people put up with her Attention-deficit Disorder for as long as they can remember.
Joyce has a husband who would like her to make money so he can have a chance to be a stay-at-home Dad, and a five-year-old daughter who is already dictating stories to her.