I Can Fly

(Columbine in the back yard.

Here's a series of haiku for spring)

To the Bird on the Fence


Dove, perched on a post
in the glow of dying sun
has no song to sing


Sing for me, please sing
My silence is deafening
Darkness approaches


Who who calls the dove
Piercing the dusk with its cry
Then takes wing and flies


Wind bends the long grass
Dove calls from a far canyon
I lift arms and fly


One day at a time, I get better and better. I’m still plagued by daily panic attacks. All that adrenaline going to waste! But I walk through them by breathing, prayer, talking to myself, and calling my AA sponsor. Nothing unique.
And no quick fixes, either. Damn. Why do you think they call it slow-briety?

Where Do the Words Go?

This is my cat Mystery talking to you.

My cat can talk, but not my friend who had a brain hemorrhage last week. Oh, she can say a few words, even a simple sentence, but then the aphasia robs her of words.

Aphasia: lack of language abilities; the partial or total inability to produce and understand speech as a result of brain damage caused by injury or disease

My friend is frightened. How much of the damage will be permanent? No one knows. She has a long period of speech rehab ahead of her. Some physical rehab too, because her balance is off. Last week, she was working up a storm. She was fierce in her work. This week she requires aid to get out of bed and a walker to go a few steps.

She can’t tell us how she injured her head. She doesn’t remember. One of these days, when she’s making headway, I’m going to tell her about the four empty bottles of mouthwash. She will have trouble staying sober through this if she lives in denial. I have a theory that drinking mouthwash is a desperate act to keep from drinking booze. That theory might not fit her. Only she can say, and she can’t say right now.

Wednesday is Haiku Day at You Know…That Blog. Haiku is the perfect poem for someone who is low on language. It’s just five syllables, seven syllables, and five syllables, brief and to the point. The theme this week is Dreams.

Scenes that flash quickly
Nonsensical images
The landscape of dreams


Desire to attain
Passionate unending work
Dream in the making


I have a big dream
All people are satisfied
No one is hungry


Your mind is restored
We can have conversations
An Alzheimer dream

~~~~~

I wonder where words go when you can't find them. Are they like socks lost in the dryer? Do they hide in filing cabinets in your brain? What if you couldn't find words to communicate? I can't imagine being without language.