Static in Snapshots
(listen to the poem, read by Diane R. Wiener)
8.21.2010 1.25.2016 Bright skies turn gray Chilly morning air slips asphalt to puddles. into a frigid hospital room. One second to slip One second to knock me out another to feel familiar two and a half hours to ensure static shock the static becomes memory. of the patella lurching out of place as I fall. 10.6.2016 10.6.2015 Slick oil A cold dorm room yellow or, another puddle. with dim light. One second to slip One second to sit another to feel another to feel static a jolt of static restrained. to crash onto the mattress leg dangling useless off the side.
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My Aunt Asks How Physical Therapy is Going
(listen to the poem, read by Diane R. Wiener)
and I tell her it’s amazing
how much I can do now
with a knee that stays in place.
I think of
walking with stability,
sitting down without
worrying
about the angle of my leg.
It makes you realize what you take for granted, she says,
as if I didn’t have surgery
to fix a knee
that’s never worked. that’s never worked.
I’ve never been able to do anything until now, I tell her.
I had to relearn how to jump,
how to skip,
how to sit
down
without panic.
She sets her glass of wine back on the table, enters a new conversation.
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About the Author
Morgan Altare is an MFA student at Florida Atlantic University.