Six days before my 64th birthday
I see pictures of my brain.
It’s hard to relate to these intestine-like grooved tubes,
stuffed sausages crammed into a small space.

How can thoughts move through these cramped recesses?
How can they find their way through the mazed passageways?
Where are the emotions?

I search for evidence why my body had slipped into numbness for hours,
all feelings numb except fear.
The dark and light places mean nothing to my untrained eye.

There is a disconnect between this twisted mass and the life I live
where a touch behind my toes sends tingles shooting throughout my universe,
where the last cricket song touches a hidden chord deep inside me,
where I taste a salted tear born of uncontrollable laughter,
where honeysuckle whiffs from dips in the road,
where your eyes reassure me that I am.

These pictures aren’t me.
They are only a landscape of cranial crevices,
in an invisible creative sphere
called life.

About Bonnie Schupp

Photographer and Renaissance woman.
This entry was posted in 64, 64th birthday, aging, brain, health, life, medical, mind, philosophy, poetry, senior, stroke, thoughts. Bookmark the permalink.

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