Category 3

The day began with a migraine headache. But I still have managed poetry practice thanks to good pain relief. And my topic today is well informed by an article in a past Guardian Saturday Review, “High Art”, by Sarah Perry. Some of her research helped form the poem. Also storms in the Atlantic.

Category 3

Was happening in my head.
I could barely get out of bed.
Swallow nostrums.
Stumble back to contemplate
small explosions, spasms,
pain mostly pulsating,
not quote lancinating,
definitely stretching and weighty.
Galen made those four descriptors for pain.
Avicenna had six – those that are
feather light to bear;
some that sledgehammer you
instead quarry stone;
some sandpaper course
wearing you down;
some piercing you to a cross;
some a brew of vinegar and gall;
then the pain that makes you numb to all.
The pain transcendent perhaps.

The storm in my head calmed
several hours later
just as the wind outside
worked itself up
to frenzy the willows.
The storm inside subsided,
Softened by warmth, and quiet,
Sleep, and the kindness of a companion
bearing toast and tea.

Copyright 2018 Bee Smith

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