Oddments

In search of story


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Vagaries in Gestation: On Being Linear, Part V, April 5.17

The pillow of an insomniac

cleaved by her back

tells of her vigil

sitting upright

in the black cold syrup

of slow minutes

the hour of the wolf

they call it

because it stalks the weak

because it devours

nothing changes in her grey room

but behind her eyes

the pageant of life

and death

rehearsing every misspoken line

rebreathing every choked breath

rewalking every unknowable path

sitting up

but wandering

trapped

amid the masks and powdered wigs

of

judges

and mimes.

Vagaries in Gestation


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Connections: January 30.17

SANYO DIGITAL CAMERAEpistaxis

word so dressy

but it’s stillĀ nosebleed

obnoxious, messy.

I have this thing

called H.H.T.*

commonest symptom

nosebleeds, you see.

So people say

“What a big yawn —

I’ve had nosebleeds

they’ve come and they’ve gone.”

Not for me

with H.H.T.

Instead of blood vessels

with cute little capillaries

I have kinky pretzel-like

vascular vagaries.

Some are big

and some are small

but “older” and “weaker”

apply to them all.

From brain in the north

to legs in the south

the bleed that startles most

is the one in the mouth,

that look to which

I most aspire:

the dripping, sated

happy vampire.

I’m sick and tired

of all the red tissue

but I realize this

really isn’t the issue.

The headlines fill me

with fear and foreboding

the whole bloody mess

is too near exploding.

Epistaxis is just

that last mythic straw

which gets the angst

unstuck from my craw.

*Hereditary Hemorrhagic Telangiectasias, aka Osler-Weber-Rendu Syndrome,

a genetic bleeding disorder I tried to describe previously in In Our Blood.

It’s about a lot more than nosebleeds.

Connections


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Vagaries in Gestation: November 28.16

SANYO DIGITAL CAMERA

Yesterday I drove to the park and, as always, slowed on the adjacent street, where little wiggly people are unloaded from back seats. A car at the curb had its doors open on the street side, so I stopped and waited.

A man stood at the side of the car, arm outstretched, helping someone out. Not a wiggly little person but a ponderously slow older person. A woman. Bundled warmly against the November day, she held his hand tightly. I caught only a brief glimpse of her but I knew. I knew those blank eyes and that empty face. I knew that slight curl inward. I couldn’t swallow because of the lump in my throat and I couldn’t see because of the tears. It all comes back so quickly.

I walked around the park and so did they. No. They did not walk. She moved her feet in that familiar shuffle, achingly slow, leaning hard on him. His baby steps described patience beyond words. Twice I noticed that they stood in embrace, she apparently clinging to him.

There was a slight wind, causing tears to run down my face. I tasted their salt and was grateful for the release.

Caregiving and dementia change people so I cannot say if he were husband or son, but I think son. I think the husband was at the playground with a little granddaughter, he seeking respite which isn’t because there is no respite from dementia. It is merciless in its constancy and as steely cold as the water in the creek.

I stood over the creek yesterday and thought about the cold water that runs through life and the daunting aloneness of those who stand firm in it.

 

 

 

 

Vagaries in Gestation

 


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Connections: October 25.16

2015-10-50-chocolate-acornI am generous to a fault

so I give this gift to you.

Now please excuse me while I seek

the tree on which it grew.

Dear reader, did you know that October 28, better known as THIS FRIDAY,

is National Chocolate Day? My calendar says so; therefore, it must be true.

Are you ready for it?

More thanks to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives.

Connections


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Connections: May 4

SANYO DIGITAL CAMERAThe waiting chair

where time stops

where machines and tubes

beepings, flashing numbers

measure life

in lifeless pulse.

My chair once

sometimes my younger son’s

as we

waited

for one fading generation

now my firstborn’s

as he waits

for me.

Connections