November 2015
I am grateful to Verse-Virtual for reprinting this poem which first appeared at Via Negativa. It is an attempt to adjust to a disconcerting recent personal experience by using the most powerful healing and attitude-adjustment tool I know: poetry. The seizures mentioned in the poem are the result of a series of hemorrhagic strokes which began in 2009; I tried to document those experiences also, in my 2014 chapbook And Yes, I Dance, in the hope that they might be of value to someone.
Day Seven: Anticipation
(after Dave Bonta's 04-October-2015 entry at The Morning Porch)
Second trial taking anti-seizure
medication. On the first, notices
stuck sideways on the bottle warned
to be aware of side effects, among
the possible were hallucinations,
visual. On day eight of that first
pass, a large brown rat escaped my
mind to race across the kitchen
floor, an event that startled me,
but was totally ignored by both
the husband and the hound. Day nine
morning, it returned in confidence,
parading its invisibility in face
of all but me. Then that was it.
No further visitations. But then,
an unexpected shift in care, a four-
day lapse in medications, and it's
back to the beginning, second dial-
up on that prescription. Days one
through six were uneventful, but
this morning when I turned on lights,
an owl perched on the wood back
of a kitchen chair turret-turned
its head to face me, gave a blink
and then turned back to stare
at the space beneath the pantry
cupboard. I approached and stuck
my hand right through it, but it
would not be displaced, talon-
grip dissuaded. Sudden understanding
grips me: it is hungry, it too has
been counting days and so it waits
here for tomorrow's manna, the fat
rat I'm half-expecting to appear.
©2015 Laura M Kaminski