Chris Allen Clark
My Recovery Off the Gulf of Mexico
When I was a child, I wanted to walk beneath the ocean,
See the pretty colors off the Gulf of Mexico.
Mossy sea salted rocks. The taste of foam in my mouth.
From a boat to Ship Island, I dove and then fell
Innocent. I walked steady and straight while holding my breath.
Next time, I will not hold my breath.
Last year when I was 31, they opened my skull,
My brain pulled from its socket. A nurse holding my head
The only woman who has ever cradled my head
Held a gas mask over me, then put me to sleep.
A green twilight. The only intimacy - the touch of a catheter.
I sleep.
I awoke one year later in
a hospital bed. I loved morpheme.
The monsters came to rip the bandage from my head.
The doctor and his medical interns gathered around my bed
Me – a medical wonder. Imagine that. And that was all before
Three rums and Coke.
I still walk with a cane. I am not Lazarus. I am the walking dead.
Dead with marbles in my head. The only spirit I have within me
80 Proof. I still intellectual ate with others. The doctors
Talk of their medicines, their lovers, their green pills,
The way they so easily steal their women from me
I try to communicate from my Valium high. I loved a woman once
Who was by coincidence in love with a doctor. I hate doctors.
I am not the intellectual lover. I am a mess of myself,
A black-cloaked actor upon a stage. No one is there.
Alone. My cane in moonlight. What a romantic sight I must be.
I must be resurrected beneath green waters,
An anesthetic the nurse put me under, until I awaken
Walk straight and narrow beneath a lonely Gulf.
They tell me Puerto Rico is 50 miles off shore.
The red lobster, sea urchin, all look beautiful to me.
I will not hold my breath while I wait for you.
Bio:
Chris Allen Clark currently lives in Morton, Mississippi where he is writing a novel. He received his B.A. in history and also English and is presently pursuing his Masters in history. He lives and breathes writing, loves art, music and anything vegetarian. He’s also a great cook. Single and 32, his psychologist tells him the way to a woman's heart and soul is through poetry and a good bottle of Don Perignon by the fire on cold nights. This is his first publication.
