I
The trees have dark red, orange, and yellow leaves
that cause me to say “awe” as I drive home.
My favorite time of year. The crisp in the air
makes the hair on my arms to stick up
underneath my worn, pink sweater.
The sight of these beautiful leaves
allow me to ignore the uncertainty
that has been rattling my soul lately.
II
When I look up, I see double. I don’t know why.
I hear different things from different doctors.
Thyroid. Virus. Unusual, unknown thing
that makes the muscles around my eyes puffy.
When I look at people a certain way,
they have four eyes or they move out
of their bodies like ghosts: ghosts of people
that remain attached to their living bodies
when I look the other way.
III
I runaway from the unknown
like a mouse running from a cat.
I distract myself to avoid it.
Spending too much time on the Internet.
Creating stories in my head
I never dare to write down.
Stories of love and loss,
continuations of stories already told,
with characters very well known.
I spend my time alone distracting myself
with things that don’t matter to anyone, not even me.
IV
When I turn on the news for a distraction,
I’m overwhelmed by the place our society is in.
Protests have become a regular event
among the shifting uncertainty.
I wish I could protest my body for attacking itself,
for not recognizing the only person it’s ever known.
V
The book I’m reading isn’t exciting.
It’s a book of poems I thought I‘d like.
It doesn’t distract me enough to keep me reading.
“I’ll come back to this one day;”
a promise I know I will break.
I’ve told this lie many times,
hoping for once it will be different
and I will be better at finishing a story
I thought I would always remember.
VI
I love this season of change
but not the change I can’t see coming.
My double vision that won’t disappear.
Being poked more times than I can count.
Being told this can be caused
by one thing or another.
Too many voices telling me
different stories with different tones.
None of them have a happy ending,
none of them I want to know at all.
VII
My brain and my body aren’t talking.
They’ve always had a complicated relationship.
First with my stutter and now with my health.
My thyroid isn’t cooperating and my conscious
mind is out of the loop.
Maybe they will never talk,
maybe they will always be estranged.
VIII
I brush the leaves off my car
as I head out in search of answers
from yet another doctor. I
can’t enjoy this season of change
for more than a day,
for I am changing in ways
I cannot explain.
Poet’s Note – I wrote this poem in the fall of 2018 for a class in my final semester of college. A lot was happening at the time, both with my health and in life. I read this poem now and recognize many things I didn’t have the language for then. Writing is the lens I use to understand my thoughts and patterns. Only in retrospect do I get what I was going through and what I still deal with today. That’s the funny thing about life, you’re never finished changing.
Kelly Severseike 