Reaching TLC
Try
to hyperventilate without chang-
ing the partial
pressure of carbon dioxide
running through your art –
eries; it can’t be
done, with artificial proxies
defining what it feels
to be an asthmatic –
and the white coats
deafened by stethoscopes
try to say normal isn’t normal;
all the time it takes
to wheeze in expiratory flow –
they don’t understand
how I can hyper-
ventilate without changing
concentrations of gas – they tell me
jargon defining the proportionality be-
tween my alveolus
and my anxiety; in moments when
the J receptors of my lung are me-
aningless
all that matters is
I can’t catch my breath
ENOUGH
to exhale for spiro-
metry they say
just breathe.
How to Write a Novel
i.
Start so slow, your words
flutter
for escape
from the pen you cupped
in your hand
ii.
and gently
flicker your dialect
against the curves of
iii.
her idea. Your muse
has long waited. Begging and
beckoning
your palm to her blue on
white lines
iv.
if only to rupture
with alliteration. Shock
a sensitive
v.
ear. And wait.
In the moment, you’ll
know
what she wants
vi.
– your reader. Not too
short or stac-
cato in ascent.
vii.
If you listen. She’ll
symbolize
the anaphora.
—
The doctor said she’d live in a nursing home, confined to a wheelchair, crippled by pain. That was thirteen years ago. Instead, Mirissa D. Price is a Harvard dental student, spreading pain-free smiles, writing through her nights, and, once again, walking through her days. Follow Mirissa’s writing at https://mirissaprice.wordpress.com/.
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