Vasovagal Syncope

The room shrinks.
She missed again, the vein dodging the needle.
The body reacts

                                                       confused

And ineffective. Cold yet sweaty, those ears sink under water.
My bags unpacked, my threads untied, yet

                                                                                           I am gone.

Nothing remains, and the nothing is tranquil.

A second? An hour?
The cacophony begins, muted
The ears throb and resurface.
Voices touch, hands speak. I taste their worry.
And finally

                                                                                            I am back.

I wash in the relief of my return. I’m not ready.

[Written April 2010. I'm on a medication that requires my blood to be monitored no less than once a month. Since starting this process more than 7 years ago, I have had a few vasovagal episodes like this one. - SMD]

The Poem I Asked For

My poem lay
in fragments
over my desk.

I tried to sculpt it to my will
but it only cut
my flesh -

tried for hours, days, weeks,
slicing myself more, coating it
with my dried blood.

Hordes of flies reveled in my poem.
Disease infested, it only grew
until that came

blasting through
my dead-bolt door.
Your toad of a poem arrived,

feasted itself on my massive poem
unyielding, even when it grew full.
It wouldn't stop

Exploding, a sickening squirt.
Flies, blood, entrails,
bile, and shards

enveloped me, my house
with a vast loden fog killing
my neighbor's pit bull.

I called you on the phone
said Shit
said I had a twenty pound sledge.

A twenty pound sledge
and was coming over to thank you.


* * *
[c.1996. This is one from a poetry writing class at University Nebraska - Kearney. There's another that was better (Fridays with Harry) but I've lost it (which grieves me to no end). Another one that I like was called Summer Chickens. I will share if I can locate it) - SMD]

Hide and Pee

[I originally wrote this back in March 2011, just after my daughter turned three. I'm posting it here mostly for me to capture the snapshot -- Seth]

I’m sick of changing diapers. It’s been over three years (yes, this is minor compared to some people who have been changing multiple kids for over a decade, but I digress) and for the last 14 months or so it felt like the end was near, but alas – like showing up 11 days late – she has decided that she should not be hasty.

She knows though, that I get very happy when she uses her potty, perhaps a little too happy. This past father/daughter weekend found us upstairs playing hide and seek. I decided to make things difficult by flushing the toilet and then quietly slipping across the bedroom into the walk-in closet and behind a row of hanging clothes.

It worked – she was very fooled. First checking the bathroom before checking her bedroom then our bedroom, then her change room. All the while calling out “Daddy! I know you are up here!”.

After several seconds she changed tactics “Daddy! Are you down stairs?” Pause “Daddy, Where are you?” Pause “Daddy?” Longer pause --

 “Daddy! I put a pee-pee in my potty! You can come out now and you will be soo happy!”