Poetry About Epilepsy

The room returns in pieces: ceiling, voice, hand. Someone has placed a coat beneath my head. My muscles hold the echo of the storm. A tablet waits beside the morning glass. I am more than the lightning in my brain. The day comes back, and I come with it.

Look again from the quieter edge. Someone has placed a coat beneath my head. A smaller detail changes the whole scene. A tablet waits beside the morning glass. Attention loosens the first easy answer. The day comes back, and I come with it.

The room returns in pieces: ceiling, voice, hand. Hours pass, but the image does not leave. My muscles hold the echo of the storm. It returns us to seizures, the brain, unpredictability, treatment, dignity, support, and living beyond a diagnosis. I am more than the lightning in my brain. The day continues with a more attentive heart.