A Poem by Mona Elaine Adilman
The Thing
The air is heavy with dreaming.
Sudden consciousness explodes
like an alarm clock, shocking her awake.
The muscles in her left leg
tremble violently, aspen limbs
protesting movement.
She stretches and cries out in pain.
Spasms beat like a crow's wing
against the prison of the mattress.
O God, am I stroking out?
She feels a weakness in her left arm.
The ceiling grows hazy, melting
into the snow on the roof outside.
She falls into a second sleep,
deeper than the first,
her left side anchored to this thing
that changes from thunder to lightning
in her brain, and at last,
leads her by the hand like a child.
