Heat Rises -- A Fluff Poem

Heat Rises


This was a class write tonight that we needed to complete in four minutes. Thought I would share. The prompt was “Heat Rises.”


The bell rings
Ring the bell
Heat rises
The smell of
Brandy carrots
Pork tenderloin
Jasmine rice
I can taste it
The heat rising
Coming to a head
My hunger palapable
Unmanageable
The bell rings
Ring the bell
Stop the alasm
The brandy carrots
Pork tenderloin
Jasmine rice
And don’t forget
Luscious chocolate brownies
Served warm
Over vanilla bewan ice cream
Rich fudge sauce
Heat
Heat rises
My tongue anticipating
Savory gifts galore
Satisfying and filling
Urgent anxiety
Comfort food
Settling
Settling
Filling that hole
That massive hole

Glue -- A Poem

Glue


The three of us make quite a pair
Me, the third wheel and the glue that solidifies this treacherous partnership
I look at Chase, catch his eye, share a private moment
All the while Lloyd stares at me as if I am a Thanksgiving turkey
He wants to carve my wings
Only I keep him at arm’s lengthHis sharp fangs unable to puncture my neck
Suck my blood, the little parasite
Lloyd and Chase live together in a state of confusion and betrayal
Unable to free themselves of their death grip
I come along
I am the glue
I hold everything together with delicate balancing
Gracefully managing the balance beam
With the perfect dismount
It’s a secret Chase and I share
He’s loyal and kind
Aware of Lloyd’s deceits and insecurities
Endangering trust by taking, takingForging new bonds, he thinks, with someone like me
Or Tim, or Paul, or Kevin, or Whomever
Alliances are tricky
But I am the glue
I keep Lloyd at a safe, not quite respectful distance
For that is a two way street
And he is unaware how cheap and disposable he makes me feel
Like a newspaper barely read, facts unremembered, thrown into the trash
I do not internalize this
I say what I think of him — outright, teasingly
Loathing and enjoying him simultaneously
Because I am the glue
He’s stuck to me, and still I push his paws away
I pledge allegiance
Forbidden kisses, later feeling ashamed, only slight regret
Sometimes I cannot even meet his eyes
Fearing disloyalty I have already committed, easily hurt
Chase, he cares about
Mysterious, subconscious feelings
Yet
It’s Lloyd and Chase
Bonded in their seething hostility and love
Neither one trusting the otherBoth loyal to me, undeservedly
I am the glueI know the full story
Keeping their not so secret desires and platitudes
Within
Under lock and key

Heartbeat

My heart pounds, pounds, pounds, not that of a man who has been defeated, not one whose pulse is fading in such a way that you cannot tell if the man has lost the battle, or the ghost has won. It's not like that. Things cannot always be wrapped in peppermint bows and almond kisses. I wish that it were so, but it isn't.

Another day at the VA. For those who don't know, the VA hospital is off 42nd Avenue by the ocean, up a hill. The cold cement structure has a pulse of its own, and I can feel it as my stomach turns inside out as I walk up to my appointment. This was supposed to be meet and greet with the physician I would be working with and for, but as I approached the office, I was also informed that I had agreed to participate in a starle study after meeting with the man. So, first I go to meet the doctor. He tells me what I want to hear -- the course of treatment will be at the patient's pace, and there would and will be no pressure to deal with anyting in a certain way. If the treatment does not work for "the patient," then we would explore other options. His office is immaculae and looks over the ocean, and I am reminded that I do not want to associate the therapy with the beautiful water each week when I come and visit. He talkes about "nuts" and "bolts," and we talk about placebos, contriol groups, D-cycloserine, PTSD, cognitive behavior therapy, and the benefits of just being in a "supportive" environment with the doctor regardless if I receive the placebo or the medication. I look out at the water, feel myself start to drown a bit as he, the doc, stops talking, and sits quietly staring at me. I know this approach. The patient will invariably break the tension by talking about their anxiety. It worked, even though I knew the strategy, but his explaining things in widgets and then going silent leeaves me cold, even though he has had experience he says in treating PTSD since the seventies. We shake hands, politely. He gives me his card with an appointment date for next week.

I am then ushered into an office for the "startle" survey, and electrodes are applied to measure how much I perspire and how much my heart pounds, as I listen to a series of sharp noises while staring at a screen with a black "X" and keeping my arms and legs still. The experiment begins. The sounds are jolting, like the needle of a turntable when you forget to put the record on -- a nasty scratching noise. I jump, yes, startled, and think, why am I doing tis when this only triggers symptoms, like each intake caused symptoms since I had to reveal trauma to three different doctors up until this point, as a fourth, who can help me, waits in the wings? I make it through. Then the clinician says that the next part of the experiment will involve noises again at different intervals and some will have an electric shock. That's it. I am out of therre. I tell the researcher that the "experiment" is over, and I am told that many people refuse to go through this, not just me. My only problem with this news is the lack of disclosure of this information prior to my involvement. A project manager comes in, very empathic and allows me the time I need before leaving.

I had therapy with my therapist, my regular one, later that afternoon. Somehow, setting boundaries help me relax and I think how relieved I did not allow this to go further. Yes, I plan on returning to the VA, and I plan to give this a shot, but with a healthy dose of feedback for the research team. They are all excellent practitoners. I just feel sometimes it is easier to focus on the actual research and forget the individual, just slighly, more that there was a lack of anticipation, much like putting a bandaid on a wound after you get burned. It isn't over, not by a long shot. I am here, and anxiety or not, I plan to make it work, study or ot, one way or another. Progress was made. And my heart is still beating.