I smell dead things where no one else can. I stick my head in cupboards, press my nose to the baseboard, again, but the smell skitters. My children assure me I am imagining things. This is no assurance at all. If I am to smell ghosts, let them be bathed and perfumed.
This begs a would you rather question . . . wake up to a cricket in your room? Or someone loudly chewing while scratching their nails across a handheld slate?
Thank you for teaching me a new term(s)...I wasn't familiar with parosmia, which led me to learn of phantosmia and anosmia as well. I love the way you stuck your landing on this poem: "If I am to smell ghosts/let them be bathed and perfumed." Indeed, that seems reasonable to request! I was surprised to find this poem tumbling out of me as I pondered your prompt:
This is such a beautiful look at your body, Keith. It's impossible to read it without considering how I view / relate with my own body, and whether it, too, might love me unconditionally. I love the idea of your body rejoicing at the truth of its own beauty and rightness -- verily!
Thanks, Rebekah. I was honestly a little surprised at how this poem just tumbled right out, as I don't usually think of my body as being loving...but there it was.
This is beautiful, Jacy. You give me great hope in your teaching your children to trust and believe in their bodies. Our society can be so body denying at times, and body idealization at others, in the sense we worship the notions and depiction of "perfect" bodies. Thank you for this poem and making the journey.
I love your poem and this prompt. My body has a lot of quirks, and some are certainly less fun than others. I decided to write about my POTS this time, and I'm calling it Seeing Stars:
I forgot that you're a fellow POTSie, A! Oh, I know these stars so well. I love the tongue in cheek vibe of this poem - "graced with flashy reminders." I'm wishing you a day in which the urgent need to put your feet up doesn't appear often but in which you can do so as often as you'd like.
This is stellar, A. (pun intended, but really it is)...I love the metaphorical imagery, the playfulness about something that impacts you and your body in a serious way, the reframe of the stars you see as a reminder of your connection to the actual stars. I suffer from low blood pressure and I understand what that kind of "star gazing" feels like.
This is wonderfully relevant and real, A. I love these lines:
"When my body is
struggling to pump
the blood to my head,
I am graced with
flashy reminders
behind my eyelids,
that I'm not so very far
from the particles
that light up the sky,
and at least if I burn out,
I know I'll get another
chance to shine again,
but, maybe, I'll just
put my feet up,
in the meanwhile."
What a remarkable way to lift up the struggle with POTS in such an honest and hopeful way. I share the same hope as Lisa, and send you blessings for each shining light along the way.
This is so honest and beautiful, Karri, and the metaphor of war fits so painfully well. Like others have said, I hope the truce continues to grow stronger!
Oh wow, this is so visceral, Karri. The nation-states metaphor is powerful and feels really apt. Thank you for your courage in sharing this with us. I am rooting for an ever-more-solid (and permanent) truce!
You have a really powerful way of writing about your breast cancer journey, Karri. This poem is so impactful, and the truce is a beautiful thing. I also hope it strengthens over time.
I admire the graciousness and restraint of your chosen preposition in the final line. I might have gone with "on." Your poor butt. It's so frustrating to not feel heard by medical professionals!
This is so very relatable, both from the standpoint of parts wearing out and from the experience of navigating within the healthcare(less) industry. I know there are some folks in the industry who actually listen, have valuable knowledge, and care about the whole patient, but what a broken system. Imagination is often the best (only) revenge, and I love the landing you stick. And yes, at least the internet listens. I can *always* find corroboration for my story somewhere in the interwebs.
I love this Rebekah! I believe it is the single best poem about PT ever! I like your mixture of wisdom, humor, humoring, insight and patience. The ending is superb and quite fitting:
I've done physical therapy three times, all for different things. I was always terrible at following through on stretches at home so I tended to follow through until they told me I could graduate. I love this poem about your experience. It's a serious example of how many are only marginally helped (if that) by the health-care system and also comical in a way that's disarming. I love the wisdom in the ending about taking a bit of each technique.
Lisa, I love your poem and the creative spirit you bring to every prompt and poem. It led me to focus on a poem that likely never would have emerged otherwise.
:
I am grateful for you, dear body,
and the trails, rivers, oceans, waves and roads
you have brought me along.
Even when I neglected and abused you,
treated you like a science experiment
and pushed you to the limit,
you never abandoned me.
:
Oh yes, there were the defective parts,
the mysterious conditions, the imposter illnesses
and the residue of my ancestors dalliances
and battles with excess and ignorance.
We all were victims of body denying systems,
the suppression of joy and desire,
and the idolization of guilt and fear.
:
We are older now, and I hear the creaks more often.
Like a fine old house amply lived in,
the aches and pains are familiar companions,
reminding me of life and the gift of being here.
You’ve heard this pledge before
but now I promise to take care of you,
at least for today and the next sweet temptation of life.
"Like a fine old house amply lived in" - what a gorgeous and soothing metaphor! I love the promise you offer in the end - "to take care of you / at least for today and the next sweet temptations of life." Always a day at a time.
This is lovely, Larry! I'm particularly taken with the idea of you and your body as a "we" weathering life together, and of viewing your aches and pains as "familiar companions, reminding me of life and the gift of being here." I love the ending, too: "the next sweet temptation of life."
I refer to my body and I as a collective "we" a lot, and I just love this. I also really love the lines about hearing creaks "like a fine old house amply lived in" and "the next sweet temptation of my life."
Thank you so much, Karri! I think I'm through it for now. Haven't smelled a single dead thing all day. (Or maybe the ghosts got the memo and took a bath?)
Lisa, I love this poem so much. The whole notion of “smelling dead things” as a way to express parasomia is so good. And the last stanza—this idea of ghosts being “bathed in perfume”-that is going to stay with me. Your prompt is inspiring me to go back and work on a poem about fainting. Writing about and from the body is so helpful. Thanks for this! ❤️
Thank you so much, Claire! And if you'd like an audience for your poem about fainting (ugh, I'm sorry that's an experience that you know how to write about), I would love to read it.
crickets belong outside.
singing fortissimo in the great outdoor symphony.
not in my bedroom.
where their song
shares space in my head
with
chalkboard fingernails
and loud chewers.
And they know it.
This begs a would you rather question . . . wake up to a cricket in your room? Or someone loudly chewing while scratching their nails across a handheld slate?
Ha.
Get a room at the holiday inn & squash the dang cricket on the way out 🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂
This is making me think of how ironic it is that we've come to use "crickets" as a euphemism for silence/no reply.
Haha, so true!
So true! Maybe because once they sense you are coming for them, they go silent and you can't find the buggers!
Arrrgh!!!!!.
Hah, Chuck, I expect we all have had. Ricker visits! I agree, I like the creatures but their song is so much sweeter in the outside!
Thank you for teaching me a new term(s)...I wasn't familiar with parosmia, which led me to learn of phantosmia and anosmia as well. I love the way you stuck your landing on this poem: "If I am to smell ghosts/let them be bathed and perfumed." Indeed, that seems reasonable to request! I was surprised to find this poem tumbling out of me as I pondered your prompt:
*
This body loves me
and there is nothing
I can do about it.
Trust me, I’ve tried
one thousand times, in
as many ways
to abuse it into
hating me, to engage my
malevolence with reciprocity
to reject me as completely
as I have it.
But still, it holds me steady,
remaining my staunchest ally.
It is patient and kind;
it does not envy
or boast;
it is neither arrogant nor rude;
it does not insist on
its own way;
it is not irritable or resentful;
it does not rejoice at [my]
wrongdoing, but it
rejoices at the truth, which
as I mis/understand it
is that this trans body
is not an anomaly but
a thing of beauty.
Verily.
Verily!!! What an unexpectedly marvelous and totally appropriate ending. I love that this poem tumbled out of you.
This is such a beautiful look at your body, Keith. It's impossible to read it without considering how I view / relate with my own body, and whether it, too, might love me unconditionally. I love the idea of your body rejoicing at the truth of its own beauty and rightness -- verily!
Thanks, Rebekah. I was honestly a little surprised at how this poem just tumbled right out, as I don't usually think of my body as being loving...but there it was.
Beautiful reinterpretation (?) of 1 Corinthians. You most definitely are not an anomaly. You are a gift.
Thank you, Karri <3. And yes, a borrowing, or a reinterpreting or something along those lines :))
Verily. You are a thing of beauty, Keith, and so is this poem. Thank you.
Thank you, A <3
This is beautiful, Keith. I love the connection 1 Corinthians 13 and the cadence you create.
Thank you, Larry :)
I spent many years
Ignoring my body
Pretending I didn't hear
The warnings she gave me
I was raised not to trust her
I was taught to see her as separate
Sinful
Shameful
Something to be hidden at all times
I'm 45 now
I've raised two kids to be free
In their bodies
To trust their bodies' signals
All the things I wasn't taught
My body is learning to trust me
As I am learning to trust her
She doesn't speak very loudly yet
I have to listen closely
Keep my hand on my own chest
Til she learns I'm safe
Oh, Jacy, this is gorgeous and heartrending and oh so relatable! My body and I are still learning to trust each other, too.
I think so many of us can relate to this. I love that you are listening to your body now however hard she may be to hear. ❤️
This resonates deeply, Jacy. Thank you for sharing...and congratulations to you and your body on growing together in trust.
I feel this one deeply. So beautiful, Jacy.
This is beautiful, Jacy. You give me great hope in your teaching your children to trust and believe in their bodies. Our society can be so body denying at times, and body idealization at others, in the sense we worship the notions and depiction of "perfect" bodies. Thank you for this poem and making the journey.
I love your poem and this prompt. My body has a lot of quirks, and some are certainly less fun than others. I decided to write about my POTS this time, and I'm calling it Seeing Stars:
It's no wonder
I write so much
about the stars,
and that I keep
coming back to them
again and again.
That can happen when
they've a tendency
to appear after you
squat, bend, or stand.
When my body is
struggling to pump
the blood to my head,
I am graced with
flashy reminders
behind my eyelids,
that I'm not so very far
from the particles
that light up the sky,
and at least if I burn out,
I know I'll get another
chance to shine again,
but, maybe, I'll just
put my feet up,
in the meanwhile.
I forgot that you're a fellow POTSie, A! Oh, I know these stars so well. I love the tongue in cheek vibe of this poem - "graced with flashy reminders." I'm wishing you a day in which the urgent need to put your feet up doesn't appear often but in which you can do so as often as you'd like.
Thank you! Wishing you the same! 🧡
“I’m not so very far from the particles that light up the sky”—love this and the whole poem. ✨
Beautiful analogy for what I am sure is a frightening situation each time it happens. May you continue to shine…on this plane!
This is stellar, A. (pun intended, but really it is)...I love the metaphorical imagery, the playfulness about something that impacts you and your body in a serious way, the reframe of the stars you see as a reminder of your connection to the actual stars. I suffer from low blood pressure and I understand what that kind of "star gazing" feels like.
This is wonderfully relevant and real, A. I love these lines:
"When my body is
struggling to pump
the blood to my head,
I am graced with
flashy reminders
behind my eyelids,
that I'm not so very far
from the particles
that light up the sky,
and at least if I burn out,
I know I'll get another
chance to shine again,
but, maybe, I'll just
put my feet up,
in the meanwhile."
What a remarkable way to lift up the struggle with POTS in such an honest and hopeful way. I share the same hope as Lisa, and send you blessings for each shining light along the way.
My reflection on my breast cancer journey:
We were allies back then.
Oh, I never was truly happy with you but I know I was at fault too.
I contributed to our issues; I could have done more.
More exercise, less everything else.
Then you rebelled in 2012.
Rogue cells replicating, ricocheting, some escaping.
You fired the first shot, so I had to fight back.
Chemical warfare first, then came amputation and radiation
Battle scars I bear to this day.
Reconstruction a mixed result on this war torn landscape.
Years of PTSD with every lump, bump, ache and scan.
Remission a misnomer, NED became my friend.
Now we have an uneasy truce you and I,
Although I do not fully trust you.
You could ambush me at any time.
But for now, we survive.
This is so honest and beautiful, Karri, and the metaphor of war fits so painfully well. Like others have said, I hope the truce continues to grow stronger!
This is powerful, Karri. The feeling of being at battle with one's own flesh is no joke. I hope NED is a continual refrain for you for...ever. <3
Oh wow, this is so visceral, Karri. The nation-states metaphor is powerful and feels really apt. Thank you for your courage in sharing this with us. I am rooting for an ever-more-solid (and permanent) truce!
This is so powerful, Karri. The ending is so real and sobering:
"Now we have an uneasy truce you and I,
Although I do not fully trust you.
You could ambush me at any time.
But for now, we survive."
What a clear eyed view of a journey with cancer, and the imnpacts on past, present and future. Thank you for sharing this with us.
You have a really powerful way of writing about your breast cancer journey, Karri. This poem is so impactful, and the truce is a beautiful thing. I also hope it strengthens over time.
Why I Quit Physical Therapy
.
I go in for my
obviously failing part,
my butt, but that's not how
these mechanics do business.
First at one shop,
then the next,
I am barely in the door
when they total me out.
.
It is all broken,
every last bit of it needs
this stretch, this strengthening,
this realignment, this manipulation,
this rebuild, this prayer.
.
I say, “But what about my butt?
I want to run again.”
They say, “Oh you will
in time,” and turn back to
the full wrecked donut of me
that is not my butt.
.
Their attention to
non-butt detail
is impeccable.
Weak glutes! Tight calves!
Dropped pelvis! Collapsed arches!
Late kick!
.
I say, “could this be
proximal hamstring tendinopathy?
That’s what the internet thinks.”
They smile and do the test,
which confirms PHT of course,
but also the fact that I
am not a big enough thinker
and will be costly to salvage.
.
They ask me to show them
a squat. The first says,
“Is that really how you do it?”
and corrects me. “You need to
stick your butt out more,
like you’re getting ready to
poop in the woods.”
.
The second says,
“Is that really how you do it?”
and when I relay the first’s
poop visualization, he laughs
snootily and says
“He really told you that?”
and corrects me.
“You need to lean forward,
like you’re warming your hands
at a campfire.”
.
In the end I buy a little
snake oil from each,
out of politeness and
superstition, then run home.
My butt aches but at least
the internet listens.
.
Now when I squat,
I see myself pooping
at their shared fire.
I admire the graciousness and restraint of your chosen preposition in the final line. I might have gone with "on." Your poor butt. It's so frustrating to not feel heard by medical professionals!
This is so very relatable, both from the standpoint of parts wearing out and from the experience of navigating within the healthcare(less) industry. I know there are some folks in the industry who actually listen, have valuable knowledge, and care about the whole patient, but what a broken system. Imagination is often the best (only) revenge, and I love the landing you stick. And yes, at least the internet listens. I can *always* find corroboration for my story somewhere in the interwebs.
I love this Rebekah! I believe it is the single best poem about PT ever! I like your mixture of wisdom, humor, humoring, insight and patience. The ending is superb and quite fitting:
"Now when I squat,
I see myself pooping
at their shared fire."
Thank you for this poem!
My mom just started PT for her arm and she would probably share in your struggles!!
I've done physical therapy three times, all for different things. I was always terrible at following through on stretches at home so I tended to follow through until they told me I could graduate. I love this poem about your experience. It's a serious example of how many are only marginally helped (if that) by the health-care system and also comical in a way that's disarming. I love the wisdom in the ending about taking a bit of each technique.
Lisa, I love your poem and the creative spirit you bring to every prompt and poem. It led me to focus on a poem that likely never would have emerged otherwise.
:
I am grateful for you, dear body,
and the trails, rivers, oceans, waves and roads
you have brought me along.
Even when I neglected and abused you,
treated you like a science experiment
and pushed you to the limit,
you never abandoned me.
:
Oh yes, there were the defective parts,
the mysterious conditions, the imposter illnesses
and the residue of my ancestors dalliances
and battles with excess and ignorance.
We all were victims of body denying systems,
the suppression of joy and desire,
and the idolization of guilt and fear.
:
We are older now, and I hear the creaks more often.
Like a fine old house amply lived in,
the aches and pains are familiar companions,
reminding me of life and the gift of being here.
You’ve heard this pledge before
but now I promise to take care of you,
at least for today and the next sweet temptation of life.
"Like a fine old house amply lived in" - what a gorgeous and soothing metaphor! I love the promise you offer in the end - "to take care of you / at least for today and the next sweet temptations of life." Always a day at a time.
Thank you Lisa! One thing I am finding wih aging, it is getting easier to practice mindfulness and day at a time living.
I loved that metaphor too!!
This is lovely, Larry! I'm particularly taken with the idea of you and your body as a "we" weathering life together, and of viewing your aches and pains as "familiar companions, reminding me of life and the gift of being here." I love the ending, too: "the next sweet temptation of life."
Thank you Rebekah!
I refer to my body and I as a collective "we" a lot, and I just love this. I also really love the lines about hearing creaks "like a fine old house amply lived in" and "the next sweet temptation of my life."
Thank you A! We, my body and I, really appreciate your comments, reflections and poems!
Oh my! Life is hard enough without phantom odors haunting you! I do hope that the air clears for you soon!
Thank you so much, Karri! I think I'm through it for now. Haven't smelled a single dead thing all day. (Or maybe the ghosts got the memo and took a bath?)
Lisa, I love this poem so much. The whole notion of “smelling dead things” as a way to express parasomia is so good. And the last stanza—this idea of ghosts being “bathed in perfume”-that is going to stay with me. Your prompt is inspiring me to go back and work on a poem about fainting. Writing about and from the body is so helpful. Thanks for this! ❤️
Thank you so much, Claire! And if you'd like an audience for your poem about fainting (ugh, I'm sorry that's an experience that you know how to write about), I would love to read it.
"Pretzel-like" 🙂
Pick Your Poison
David Angel
The dilemma was so baffling
I had to make a choice
Sell my soul and be a lawyer
or a poet and rejoice
Dunning letters and jalopies
or a mansion and Rolls Royce
Dilapidated options
Filthy lucre or James Joyce
Night sweats kept me up at night
Insomnia was pretty bad
The Devil on my shoulder smelled
Parosmia is living Hell
But walking in my sleep was worse
I wandered Satan’s universe
Tin cup and no Givenchy purse
Parasomnia can be a curse
Poet! Choose poet every time!