First,
you go to the window
closest to the street
and open it
wide. Then you turn the radio
up, way up. Soundtrack
suddenly expands to
an acoustic guitar; simple,
resonant as last night.
There are
birds out in the trees
of indistinct species
who fall to silence for a
moment. You assume
they are listening. When
they resume — single
sharp notes, clipped
off at the end —
you know they aren’t.
They don’t care at all
as long as you stay inside,
and you do for now. You flop
into a faded armchair
to wonder at how you used to be
when you faced the world
entirely whole. Do you
prefer this quiet
before death, before breakfast
even, or are you just
tired of sameness now
as you sit, like you did
the day before and the day before,
back to the day you lost yourself
to a pounding in your head
and the word “stroke?”
You don’t remember that day
at all, you try to recall it
and you don’t even know
if there were birds.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
T