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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