“One pill makes you larger/And one pill makes you small/And the ones that mother gives you/
Don't do anything at all/Go ask Alice/When she's ten feet tall”
—	“White Rabbit” by Grace Slick

Swallowing aspirin sans water
dropping pills since eight years 
of age beginning with phenobarbital 
to address seizures defying analysis
waking in field where cross-guards
stared terrified of my lapsing spasms
teachers & principals called spells
neurologists tossed dice, nursed
my malady with Dilantin, Depekane,
paradione, Depakote, Valproic Acid
in doses large & small, increased 
& decrease in number and frequency
causing my mind to numb, leaving me
in a daze; when eyelids hung heavy & brows 
crossed, doctors fortified flickering awareness
prescribing Dexedrine swallowed by the medicine
cabinet daily (or down family & friends’ throats)
long before a miracle med balancing act; 
drug dependent, months melted into years, 
years into decades, decades into perpetuity.
My life’s been given to shadowy acceptance 
convulsive clairvoyance partially answering
questions, mitigating pain, quantifying suffering;
Each sunrise appears later while dusk settles early;
yet proud, senior years like a footstool, I still 
twist bottle caps—a sign of lucidity—
setting up pills day & night in dixie cups 
rather than doling them out in clear plastic 
dosette boxes for weeks in advance validating 
control over existing conundrums, taking 
medication at times spurned by an internal clock
leaving organized tray security to others.