A Sense for What Belongs

(going through my old poems looking for areas to revise and came across this one)

 

I stop hearing out of one ear

for a whole day

everyone sounds so far away;

tin can conversations, the sea

through shells was only ever

the rush of blood through my head,

my sister when she talks to me in

dreams.

My vision is blurred

for a whole week

everything looks so out of place;

trees bursting out of sidewalks, movies

running at the wrong speed and

every step is a blur,

my sister standing on the porch at

dusk.

My sense of smell disappears

for a whole month

everything seems less familiar;

the café where I always go, the flowers

bursting into bloom in the garden

we had planted,

my sister when she entered a

room.

My ability to taste is gone

for a whole year

everything loses a bit of itself;

the water after running, the cinnamon

cookies sent by grandmother that filled

the air for holidays,

my sisters loaves of bread fresh from the

oven.

My way to touch is lost

for longer than I know

everything turns to dust;

the old book pages, the blackberry

thorns that scratched symbols into

my legs,

my sister’s braids as she ran in front of

me.

 

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