Talking to my right foot

This will soon be over.  The containment. The big grey boot.
You will get to wear these sneakers again.  And their brother berry color.
I do not know what is wrong with you, or why you decided to flare,
but I want to thank you.  It's you who has me counting points
and looking at the sides of boxes.  Yesterday, I drank 4 glasses
of water -- big glasses of water -- so that someday
you won't have to bear the weight of me.
I, sometimes, cannot bear the weight of me.
Bettsy said I have a big energy
but I think all she is seeing
is the size and shape of me
and presumes that
I am bigger
than
I am.

I
am
small.
As small and
painful as you right now.
As tiny as the niggling fear in me.
I want to be big in all of the right ways:
large hearted, open-minded, receptive to new,
a tendency toward naked. But for right now, I am as limited
as my limited movement.  Stuck here in this body, while some other me
is singing and swaying, scampering through the night woods, laughing,
not at all aware of her right foot, her barrel body, the container that she is in.