Moonlapse

 
“What symptoms are you noticing?” he asks.

And I fumble with words,
trying to shove the frayed thread of them
through the needle’s eye
of all the awkward ways that I am
dissatisfied and
confused and
just generally itchy
in both my psyche and
in parts he can’t comprehend

And clear as day I can read his thoughts
as they float in a massive midair speech bubble:
“please let her mention something
that I can order tests for…”

But there is no test for the way
my soul has stopped fitting in this body,
like I’ve become
an octopus or
a tricycle or
a grasshopper
trying to fit in a human-shaped skin.

So, I agree to track and record my
so-called symptoms
(which we know I won’t),
and we both walk away
frustrated and
demoralized,
just to try the conversation again
in three months’ time.


.