Friday, December 12, 2008

Phantoms/AKA Hearts. On. Sleeves.

I did not ask for this.
To be honest, I really thought we were done here
- thought that time had done her job,
had mended the cut and healed the absence-
the strangeness of a day without you,
days I replaced so quickly with
prosthetic limbs of strength.

This kind of pain I have only heard about from veterans.
And to be honest,
I really did not take them seriously-
thought that I'd never wake up in tears,
thought the dull aches would never reach me,
thought the intermittent tendancies of dillusion would pass me by.

Which is why I am a bit beside myself with all of this.
With how to ease a hurt that does not exist.

And of course I hear myself asking "just how bad was it, Jessica?"
To which any intelligent physician would reply, "very bad".
"Why Here, just look at the case".

Fortunately, I am old enough to know
that the eyes of past are not to be trusted,
as they so often choose to see an early morning run at sunrise
before the sickness,
and nothing else besides.

Memory is so very vain this way.

She'll show you repeats of your highest moments,
but never the reasons for the end.
never the sweat and tears and guts
of a five year marathon to nowhere.

I know I know I KNOW this.
Which is why
I just do not understand,
how after all this time,
after this removal and replacement,
after the strong foundations that have been placed in your stead,
that at any given time,
without my permission
I will see your eyes smiling at me from our kitchen counter,
as you make a turkey sandwhich.
"for your sister" You say.
"to put in her purse" You say.
"Because I hear brides don't get to eat much." You say.

They say there is not much to be done about this kind of thing.
That it's normal and typical and to be expected for 50-80%
of these kinds of cases, and that someday your mind really will adapt
to your body.

And I know they are right.
And I know things are as they should be.

But in the meantime,
in the throws of it all
statistics bring no relief.
And that is what I say.


Steve said...

You've commented in the past that sometimes you feel like a "fake" when you're writing. Well, if you're faking here, you're a better actress than you are a liar. Writing is about revealing truth but I think it's also about lying well in order to bury the truth deep enough for the reader to have to dig. This is deep, sad, but also cathartic for the reader.

Claire said...

when you write, i want to sit beside you until your pen inks its last word. and then, i want the silence to dissolve into words so that i can understand where your words start and where you want them to end...

steve, who i think is your dad or at least a family member has penned it so accurately.

Jekisa Jean said...

i think it was cathartic for me, the writer, too.
debated even putting it up...thinking maybe it was a little bit too much "diary-esque".
found that sometimes getting your guts out there...
(in hopefully a subtle form) brings you back to the basics of the written word...(let's have russian tea and talk about it when i come home)

two things
1. your words are so very kind.
2. i wrote you an email.
of the longish variety.
so i will talk to you soon. :)

shilvia said...

Brilliant writing!!!emotions well described...I am reading this and iam truly in a state of understanding your feeling,I know that feeling :)

Chris said...

I, as usual, don't have words to say how I feel about reading this, but just know that I think it is brilliant, as are you. :)