Something akin to a friend’s belief in past lives.
Her ideas explained why I recognized you, why
my cells memorized other times together.
This morning for months now, first thing I know
is the arch of my foot. Steel ribbon wraps the left
ankle; simultaneous pain with a lack of sensation.
The house and I needed you, grieved for you.
Long waking up to a dream of your touch,
you learning to kiss me.
I learned to pronounce the drug names.
Doctors call it adverse reactions.
What’s lost, what lingers behind.
Micky Shorr is a retired psychotherapist and school social worker. Her poems have been published in a number of literary journals, and in the award winning anthology “A Slant of Life”. She is a NY Writers Coalition-trained workshop facilitator, and has led writing groups in a residence for formerly homeless persons, a program for domestic violence victims, as well as in public libraries.