A Canterbury Tale From My Bedroom

by M. A. Dubbs

Image credit: Josephine Amalie Paysen on Unsplash

My Camino de Santiago is the journey out of my own bed.

A rugged expedition, to be sure,

but one, I’ve been told by many, that is worthwhile.

Many preparations must be made, as to be expected:

            Tearful pleads for one’s body to move,

            self-inflicted berating and threats,

            a numbed trance-like disassociation of complacent nihilism.

Once these meditations are complete,

            I begin my trek with a low pop of bones,

            groan out of the mattress and wobble on weak-calf legs.

The porcelain throne,

            an ancient but traditional symbol,

            is my next stop.

I scroll through mass shootings and famine

            and celebrities in bikinis until I feel prickling needles

            from the ass down.

Like most spiritual journeys,

            I must purify my internal shame and inherent sin with water.

The steam and heat are tranquil as I sit on the shower floor,

            although I grimace as I watch droplets trace and chart

            cherry angiomas and stretch marks

            over bulging and sagging flesh.

I’ll contemplate on the inadequacy of the human condition,

            or at least my own.

The true hallmark of the pilgrimage, though, is the company;

            companions foraged by the provincial campfire.

I suppose my neighbors exist in my space,

            as I hurriedly check the mailbox, avoiding eye contact

            or a spotlight on my matted hair and ripped-stained sweats.

The Master Cat, my own feline, makes for a much safer confidant than the human variety.

Sir-Puss-in-Walmart-Collar joins me for a hearty meal:

            frozen Hungry Man.

We sway to the music of microwaves in a traditional dance from his hometown.

I can’t quite understand his native tongue, but I suppose this is the point of such a trip?

As I pick the corn kernels from my chocolate pudding,

            I put on YouTube videos to fill the quiet of this room.

Even the ads offer fraternity, with tailored Zoloft ads

            and weight loss befores and afters.

            1s and 0s programmed via some math algorithm

            so that I feel inadequately seen.

So I watch from my couch, the handsome people I think I know,

            in beautiful places I plan to go

            despite not leaving my own zip code.

I once again enter prayer, in hopes that my journey

            will lead me out of this labyrinth of my mind:

            an inspirational rescue igniting a purpose within me.

A promise to make a change for tomorrow

            until I collapse into a restless sleep

            and repeat my tale tomorrow.

***

M. A. Dubbs

M. A. Dubbs is an award-winning Mexican American and LGBT+ writer who hails from Indiana. For more than a decade her writing has been published in literary magazines and anthologies across the United States, Canada, the United Kingdom, Japan, India, Austria, Australia, Nigeria, and Germany. Dubbs is the author of three poetry collections with her fourth, A Walk to Americana, releasing with Dancing Girl Press in 2025.