Marcella Remund

ISCHEMIA THINKS SHE’S SO FUNNY

I sit at my desk typing letters when Ischemia,
mischievous angel of change, scissors my left hand

loose from the brain’s direction, then sits in the bay
window humming I’m So Lost Without You.

My brain thinks STUDENTS. My untethered hand
flops out q-4-8-V-s. The room spins like a carnival ride.

I stand, teeter, my left foot forgets up from down.
Step, drag, step, drag, hugging the handrail, I make

my way downstairs. In the bathroom mirror, I check
for stroke signs: stick out my tongue, raise my arms,

try simple sentences: Touch your nose. Be here now. Help.
In the ER, Ischemia sits on a med cart swinging

her legs, making bunny ears behind the neurologist.
I’m too late to stop her, the doc says. She’s done

her work. For the next week, I learn to walk again,
move pegs from one side of a board to the other,

squeeze a rubber ball. Ischemia whispers
goo goo gha gha in my ear and flaps her arms

like a chicken behind the therapist. I’m telling you,
I hate that lousy angel, but you have to admit, she’s hilarious.