I have this recurring dream
where a doctor tells me
he doesn’t know what's wrong with me. No evaluation can tell me why my days always feel like
it just snowed.
Hazy
and monochrome
and quiet
even when it’s 80 degrees.
Maybe I have mono!
Maybe I'm not eating enough greens! Or maybe it's mercury retrograde! Maybe she's born with it,
Or maybe it's a depressive episode following the tangled mental signals of genetically induced migraines, in which case
she was definitely born with it.
In my dream,
my doctor
is an old man who talks over me talks through me
throws around jargon
and juggles medication
but can't tell me why
my happiness smells like smoke, why it lies in my palm lines.
Contentment feels like bad circulation, it doesn't reach my fingertips.
Rubbing my hands together
for warmth never did anything for me.
Is it possible to be tired
in a dream?
I am run down even when I'm passed out.
The edges of my vision are
foggy when
the doctor puts his hands around my neck tilts my head to the side.
My heart feels like it could
scurry up my throat
to rest on my tongue,
like a makeshift depressor
as he shines a light
into my mouth
as if giving my body the brilliance it craves even if it’s synthetic
could cast the dark away for good.
Just as it seems like
he's maybe considering a diagnosis
the word perched
like an answer to a question I don’t remember asking I wake up.
Mariel Cariker is a writer. She works professionally in the podcast industry, so she's always listening. Her writing themes include nostalgia, relationship reflections, and a desire to connect with others. Her work has been featured in Down in the Dirt magazine and Proud to Be: A Pride Poetry Collection from The Red Penguin Collection. She currently lives in Somerville, Massachusetts. You can find more of her work at marielcariker.com.
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