(Dedicated to my Father, who was totally paralyzed
for 7 years before he died.)

I awake in the early morning darkness
Frozen, motionless, immobilized.
My eyes straining to see into the black void
Looking for any sign of my keepers
Listening for any kind of movement
Phantom images dart around me slowly at first,
Then multiple images spring from every direction
My heart racing, my breathing rapid and shallow,
Byproducts of fear and imagination
Running amok in the dark

My eyes focus on tiny lights incessantly blinking,
Reassuring my heart as the phantoms vanish
My ears register the intermittent beeps
And steady, determined droning
Of contraptions that populate my space,
Their sole purpose to prevent the outcome I crave

My nose catches whiffs of iodoform odor,
Penetrating, pungent, overpowering my sense of smell.
A cruel replacement for what once was
A weekly parade of fragrant flowers
That excited what few senses remain
The brightly colored blossoms
The sweet, fragrant smells
The delightful sizes and shapes
But the beautiful flowers have withered,
As concern for my plight has waned

I watch as the determined, dynamic sun
Deliberately dilutes the darkness,
Revealing the magical birth of a new day.
Is that delightful birdsong I hear?
The beeping and droning are maddening,
But I know there’s birdsong outside my window
I can’t wait until the moment arrives!

As if on cue my keeper appears
Busily going about her assigned tasks
My eyes following her every move
“And how are you doing today?” she asks,
Staring at me as if I could answer.
But I lie frozen, motionless, immobilized
In my mind I replay my daily reply:

"My existence is a never-ending cycle of
Penetrating. . . pungent. . . whiffs
Beep. . . blink. . . drone. . . beep
Blink. . . drone. . . beep, . . . blink
Drone. . . beep. . . blink. . . drone
Penetrating. . . pungent. . . whiffs
Dawn. . . daylight. . . twilight. . . night
Daylight. . . twilight. . . night. . . dawn
Twilight. . . night. . . dawn. . . daylight
Night. . . dawn. . . daylight. . .twilight
Penetrating. . . pungent. . . whiffs
Each boring minute an hour.
Each hateful hour a day.
Each wretched day a year.
Each torturous year a lifetime.
Ad nauseum. . .ad infinitum. . .ad mortem?"

Offering no response to my unspoken thoughts,
My keeper dutifully takes my vital signs,
Temperature, pulse, respiration, blood pressure,
Records the results, then walks to the window
My favorite time of day has arrived!
“We must open the window to freshen up your room.”
As the window opens my spirit soars, and my ears capture
The lovely birdsong, as well as other living sounds,
Along with a veritable potpourri of smells.
I can only imagine what is happening outside,
And I do imagine it as best I can

I close my eyes and try to make out each note,
Visualizing the source of each incredible sound,
Be it bird, animal, human, or otherwise
Who they are, what they look like,
What they’re doing, what they’re thinking,
The blinking, beeping, droning is finally drowned out!
With every breath, I savor each smell
And, with eyes closed, as I visualize
What’s happening in my mind’s eye,
A wonderful peace envelops me. . . comforts me

But, alas, this day will be crueler than most
Another keeper, a newer keeper, enters my room
“Oh, she’s fallen asleep” he whispers,
He closes the window, shuts the shades,
Then quietly leaves, shutting the door
I SCREAM A LOUD, LONG, PRIMAL SCREAM!
... in my mind
As I lie frozen, motionless, immobilized—   
Paralyzed

safe & sound in sounds beloved


<>

in a chalk dust soft whisper, barely bit more than an
eyelash fluttering tonality, she requested her playlist,
favoritism shown, partial to certain poems, poet,
safety in the sounds of familiarity, melded into verses and poems

“works,” how she nat/notated them, smiling,
for they were not works, but labors, safe sounds,
on a palette synthesized from emotive words coloring all of
her drumming, thrumming skin beating, eyes singing,
lips tingle reverberating, echoing my weeping

I read her the collected, the sure ones, made to eye-tear, her lips,
pleasure poutiest before turning corners upward,
in a haven’t-smiled-for-awhile,
a plush blush so pale red, pores of pavé chips of rubies glistening
each in a tearful diamond setting

one more stanza to remember, mark the page, the collective
of this moment,
what shall we call it, this essence of timing of
lifetimes glory glorious;
a hallelujah crossover, suggested, hints of death after life, no,
I nod, no, vociferously
gifting it to her as a quiet,
safe and sound,
safe in sounds beloved, words, beloved,

beloved for being loved and she, beloved


10/08/19
nyc
early morning

how to make ghee
how to to clarify,
place the salt free butter in pan
turn the heat on very low,
then just listen............
first,
silence--
then sounds of drizzling rain for a while grow
to a creek starting to flow
then hear the steady rain pelting on leaves
(if it starts to sound like popcorn,
maybe turn the heat down),
then let the rain keep
trodding, until
it gets quieter
and quieter
and quiet
then
turn
off
flame,
the
ghee
is
ready
strain,
and
bottle

The pitched sound of glass that breaks and I just fall
The surprise as it slips from your fingers.
Bleeding while you're trying to save it all.
Lost forever, this feeling lingers.

Trying to fix it, but failing hard.
Doubting what to do as your hope starts to fade.
It hurts more than to just stop and fall appart.
Gleaming with the failures you've made.

Puzzling the pieces is harder than I thought.
The wounds in my fingers are not helping.
It's all for nothing and I've fought.
My fingers full of glass and the bleeding isn't stelping.

The glass can never be saved, what's done is done.
And when your life is flipping upside down.
And you realise, all you did is run.
You see the blood and you hear the sound.

You never wanted it to drop.
You didn't even realise.
The clinging sound in the cleaning mop.
Nearly pretty, your demise.

His silence can't be tamed.

You gave me silken scarves and solitude
To weave my own bindings
You gave me surpluses of satin
Bandages for skin you broke
You gave me Swarovski accessories
As if it excused your absences
You gave me smooth apologies
A salve to my twisted fingers