I’m leashed to a pole
that buzzes and gasps
its needle tube into my arm.
Time means nothing
when there are no shadows,
only neon watchkeepers
that pry my eyes open
with a flip of a switch.
I’m asked, “Do you know
where you are?…Name three
things in the room…What
is the sentence you said you’d
remember?…Write it down.
I order food, but it’s not food.
It was warm somewhere in the kitchen,
but at the lifting of a lid by my bedside.
It is cold, foul, and my stomach rebels.
You have a fever. Here’s a Tylenol.
Do you still know who you are?
An eraser board tells me it’s a new day.
Maybe today I will go where they can
get me strong enough to walk again.
There is so much waiting.
I ride the waves of minutes
and masked faces.
It’s noon, I think…I still know my name.
I remember the sentence I chose
to repeat a week ago and can still write it.
The eraser board black inks it is Friday.
My doctor tells me I’m doing well.
Why am I mourning there are no shadows?
©Susie Clevenger 2025
I wrote this about my husband who is going through CAR T Cell Therapy for Multi Myeloma. The questions and writing are to check for neurological side effects. He's been experiencing some fevers and a lot of brain fog which can happen with the treatment. He's been in that room for two weeks now. Who wouldn't be confused?
Oh Susie, poor Charlie. You have expressed so well how it must feel to be in that bed for so long, various staff coming and going, hoping each day there will be some progress. The lines "Maybe today I will go to where they can get me strong enough to walk again" are so poignant. I am impressed he can remember a sentence for a week. I cant remember one for five minutes!
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