Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Ode to dead brain cells

Death be not proud,
Do I dare eat a peach?
If only I could write like Whitman.
Or that other poet I am trying to remember.
You know the one, Lakes and transcendentalism:
I have been trying to recall his name for days.
Not John Donne. He’s a favorite.
Not the albatross. Maybe I dare disturb the universe.
Where was I going with this? I can’t remember.
Left hand: comes in handy when your ride sight does not work like it used to.
I had a stroke. Now some brain cells are dead.
I feel like I should have a memorial service. Or something.

5 comments:

  1. Don't worry! The dead brain cells weren't the ones that host your creativity, your wit, or your intelligence. They may have blocked the path to some of these, but you'll find a way around your troubles, just like your brain will. Never give up!

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  2. Amy! Are you ok!??! Did you really have a stroke? I'm worried about you my cute friend.

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  3. I'm worried too. It sounds like you're going through so much. How are you holding up? Can I do anything for you?

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  4. I love you, girl! You're amazing and everything is going to work out.

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  5. We can have Shelley learn the death march for the memorial service. I'll write a speech. Ryan can sing a song.

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