Stroke

Like a bee buzzing

In my silver teapot,

Or housefly struggling against

A windowpane,

My aunt Clara had a stroke

Last year,

And now I visit her every day.

Sometimes we play the alphabet game,

ABCD question mark,

Or I read to her and ask her

Things,

And she tries to answer

With a look or smile.

But mostly she just leans

Back in her chair,

Closes her eyes and holds

My hand,

Like a bee buzzing in

My silver teapot,

Comes down the spout

But cannot get out.

Reviews

[devon]

This poem particularly stirred me. My grandpa has suffered from strokes and multiple seizures in the last few years. "Like a bee buzzing in/My silver teapot,/Comes down the spout/But cannot get out." Everyday, I see the man he used to be trapped somewhere inside a deteriorating mind and body. I so wish I could pull him out of the rubble, but life isn't always so sweet.

Thank you for this poem. It's beautiful.

[Avery Colt]

Devon, Thank you for your comment on 'Stroke'. All of us as we grow older have an experience that we feel we need to deal with and giving expression to it in poetry has always been a way for me. I think it was Philip Larkin, when he was asked to define a poem, who said it was like compressing experience in a small form of words and putting it in a small box, which could be opened much later and the whole experience would come back as it had been in the beginning. It is a mysetery to me where some of the images in my work come from but I am glad a silver teapot resonated with you too. Avery