Just Who The Hell Is Thee?

by Mindy Rice

Does either one of us know

where MS leaves off

and we begin anymore?

Over thirty-five years together and

its woven so deeply into our marriage

I wonder

who my mate is, you

or a disease?

   

Funny thing, disease,

how it eats away at our sense

of trust, leaves us uneasy

in our confused familiarity

never knowing for sure

where the culprit lies –

in the symptoms or

our reaction to them,

if you're to blame or

I'm to blame or

it's all just an excuse.

   

No doubt I envy

your convenient cop-out

now and then, wish I

had a handy explanation

that no one could dispute.

I can never be as tired as you,

never lose my way like you,

never forget my promises

like you and get away with it.

 

 And you, on the other hand,

beg for just one day

of normal, just one day

where legs don't fly

in spastic jerks, eyes stay

still and focus on one thing

at a time, things make sense,

and there's no need for pills

or infusions of purple poison,

not even pipes of marijuana.

   

Oh, the grass is always greener

in any situation, there's always something

we can envy. Better to forget

all the muck we've raked

to get this far. Because

we really don't know, never will

know the difference

between who we are

and who we might have been.

 

 
Mindy is a former teacher and long-displaced Californian who has returned to revel in the poetic influences of Santa Cruz and its surrounding communities.