Toward the end he’d sit
squirrel-like at his chair
in front of the old computer
and dream for one second,
maybe two, of how it used to be.
By the time he’d begin to write
he’d have forgotten
what marvelous words he’d strung
together and he’d begin
writing — and he’d have forgotten
most of the rules of it, even
forgotten spelling. But he would
write anyway as if he remembered
how, and when, and even
the spelling stopped bothering him
as he corrected each word with
fury bubbling inside and the refrain
“no, no, no, no, no, NO” calming him
as he tried to recall what the letters
were supposed to say — and when
he had done all he could, he would
fold his tents, beat the retreat; it was
close enough. He had few tries left.
Maybe next time. Close, no cigar.
No faith in his hands but he had to try
or end up on the couch, wringing them
in silence.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T
Tag Archives: stroke
Stroke Writing
Baltimore Bridge
Take the case of a bridge that breaks in a quite unexpected way. The morning news shows it collapsing when struck by a ship. We are told — and by “we” I mean the handful of us up at four AM to see; aren’t we special to know so early? — that seven people or more have fallen into that black night water and that divers have gone in after them.
Take the case of the blood vessel in my head that did the deed less than a week ago. I’ve told pretty much anyone who would listen that there’s a bridge in my cerebrum that snapped and now, I’ve got to keep an eye on everything. Can’t send anything or anyone in after it to rescue the cells that were impacted by the rupture, this time.
Take the case of the Rapture. Take the case of the Apocalypse. Take the case of not knowing what comes after the long plunge from a height. The ice water in the dark. The looming demise, the struggle to survive. Attempted rescues in the cold dark. All the likely failures; the rare miracles you hope for.
Take the case of all the morning numbers. It’s early, very early — the BP, the sugar, the pulse of me watching that slow fall over and over on the daybreak news. I’ve been on that bridge before, long ago. I’m recalling that it was long and seven fallen seems low even this early.
Take my case. Take my head as a full bridge tumbling. What should I save, what can I save? This isn’t Baltimore, there’s no traffic this early. I’m one man with a busted passage, and no one thinks it’s news that this passage is snapped. I should have seen it coming. I should have taken a different road. I should make myself get more sleep.
CVA
In the paperwork
they called it
a “CVA”
A “cerebral vascular accident”
On the street
they call it a “stroke”
Like a sky-sent bolt or
a smoothing hand on skin
I don’t want
to call it at all
for fear of raising it
to fiercer life
I’m shaking slowly as I stand up
less than a week later
They say I got off lucky
Call it “tiny” and “minor”
I don’t have the luxury
to minimize
or slide it aside
as I try to stand steady
How much of this tremor
is fear and how much
impairment of a more
profound nature
Beats me right now
Beats on me right now
Is this a new normal
or will there be another to follow
and another and another
Blow upon blow
Stroke upon stroke upon stroke
Never to mean a gentle hand again
I didn’t mind getting older
I do mind getting old
Everything catching up to me
Now and now and now
Feels like all I have is now
Then is just a fiction I’ve told myself
A eruption in the brain
White dot on a scan
Like a snow cap
on a polar field
A tiny stroke of winter
on my earth
CVA — an accident
that happened
An equinox for a new season
I should have seen coming
Dark Matter 