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Fasciculations
A lovely word that describes the involuntary movements that can be secondary to the
Death of neurons associated with ALS.
Sitting nervously in my car
waiting in your parking lot,
I hear your velvet voice echo in
the stairwell, followed by laughter.
Now I know you made it up the stairs,
an achievement unbearable to observe.
We don’t hug-we will be touching so much,
the hug seems redundant.
We laugh in unison at nothing,
our voices so in pitch, it sounds musical.
Getting you into the Suburban,
the clinical part of my brain notes the
trembling with intention of your left leg
and the rigidity of that stubborn right foot.
I make a lame joke
and kiss your cheek as I buckle you safely upright.
Seeing your hand laying in your lap,
two fingers contracting into a claw;
I wonder how many times you have left
the pleasure of leaving your home
on your own two feet.
After the doctor visit you seem cheered,
we go to lunch and stuff our mouths,
grateful for the excuse to avoid conversation.
To let it all settle in.
I try not to sob into my sandwich.
Loving the sound of your machine gun laugh,
I try to keep you entertained with my stories,
because the sound of you laughing
makes me happy.
We cruise around the back roads,
admiring the woods and fields of farmed goodness.
You say with a sigh how much you love the journey,
it’s the only way you can get around now.
In my mind’s eye,
I see you young and handsome.
Leaping onto your stingray bicycle
and riding off to a new adventure;
brown as a Peruvian boy can be
on a hot shirtless summer.
I keep you out too long,
your head bobs in slumber
as I bounce over the potholes.
Upon arriving, after I help you
fall out of the car into the arms of your walker.
I make an excuse to go ahead
when I see you fumbling with your pants,
leaning against the dumpster.
Your eyes look frightened and ashamed
when you make it into the house,
asking me if I have ever peed on my shoes.
“Of course I have, I’m a girl!” I answer.
Neither of us laughs as you
wash your shoes in the sink.
You are tired now,
my heart is hurting and I don’t want you
to comfort me.
I don’t have any more jokes
so I kiss you goodbye as you settle into
your recliner
and cry my way back to the car.
