Static in Snapshots
(listen to the poem, read by Diane R. Wiener)
8.21.2010
Bright skies turn gray
asphalt to puddles.
One second to slip
another to feel familiar
static shock
of the patella
lurching
out of place
as I fall.
10.6.2015
A cold dorm room yellow
with dim light.
One second to sit
another to feel
a jolt of static
to crash
onto the mattress
leg dangling
useless
off the side.
1.25.2016
Chilly morning air slips
into a frigid hospital room.
One second to knock me out
two and a half hours to ensure
the static
becomes memory.
10.6.2016
Slick oil
or, another puddle.
One second to slip
another to feel
static
restrained.
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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.
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.