Angel, Lion,
Bird. Cluster
seizures. He splashes,
barks
in baths, screams
near edges
of pools. Loves
the school bus. Hates
Grace cutting
his fingernails. Loves
and hates most
things. On some
spectrum. Shrieking angel, palsied
lion, intractable bird. Falls
in cracks between labels. My son. Nine years
old. Ma, hai, duh his own
language. Atonic drops. Intermittent.
He chases robins, flings
our clothes. Against chairs
pounds tennis
balls. Claws tabletops
for dishes, tosses
spoons, thumps his feet
to funk
beats, dunks
orange ball, body checks
the plastic hoop. Focal motor
misfires. Disco bird. Point guard
lion. Wrecking
angel. We clap
for simple
things. Guide him back
when he misses
the toilet, piss staining
his pants. Sit too
close, he moves
away. Sit far away,
he moves close. His sounds
fly by,
he lets out
a sad roar through grinding
teeth. Staring spells. Clonic shaking.
Night through skylights, our peaceful
time. Grace and I
on opposite couches. Flipping
channels. Backs
stiff. Pulsing
temples. Sleeping
through Mad
Men. True Blood.
Waking
to melted
coffee ice cream.
It’s not
that simple. To love
him so much. To hate
just some of it.
from SeizeFind more by Brian Komei Dempster at the library
Copyright © 2020 Brian Komei Dempster
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, LLC on behalf of Four Way Books.