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Tenacity of Lace

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Musings #39

A BROTHER’S STROKES                                    

                    

       Wanting to escape rule and wall,

he searches in the northern wood 

for the one wild, true thing

he can never name. 

 

Then, like a lightning bolt,  

blood erupts –

drowning the left side of mind,

the side that spins our stories.

 

No longer oblivious – his word –

he becomes quick to cry

and grateful for the right brain’s

link and flow.

 

Brothers laugh together now,

a signature laugh that sounds

exactly the same

coming from each chest.

 

       Another bleed leaves him

wheelchair-bound.

The heart of his mother’s ghost

quickens.

 

With his right arm, he drags

his hampered form through

the lake, edged by the forest

he once walked.

 

 

With a left hand softened from disuse,

he caresses the forehead

of his blue-eyed grandchild, sleepless

from a dream of him dying.

 

       Another burst vessel

– would he call it a stroke of luck? –

frees him of the cage

a body can be.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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