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.


  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!

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

  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?

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

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


Your comments feed my blog. I hungry.


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