Ghazal for God & Wellbutrin
       

Took me years to learn touch is done with hands
song is what the throat does, how to see with eyes.

Before: mind popping rocks, soupy melody, brain cradle
days of fur pulled over thinking place, feeling fog be eyes.

Sand abrading ridges cracked between ceramic— gyri, sulci
hosting hardness, sorrow telling me I shouldn't be, bleeds eyes.

I remember when J was still alive. Laughing with him about madness
he said "I like you so much, maybe I should take it too"— reprise.

Then the first time I discovered Boredom, that blank blessing. What
is time without hateful voices clamoring inside? Started to realize.

Now my hand is lodestone in the mornings, draws open glowing bottle, pill
like pit of stone fruit in my palm. Got healthcare but it isn't free, prize.

Not yet awake, small ritual of lips takes shape, Blessed are you One
who makes me in Your image, by Your will, invoke a day of seen I's.

Thank you releasing agent, reuptake inhibitor, converted metabolite, thank
you white noise, pink liver, thank you pink brain, green skin, green eyes.

Blessed is the One who made me incomplete, say: Broken, say: One Who
fashioned world of ragged siblings, jagged verges, nowhere to fleeeyes.

Tongue presses pill down into muscled throat, say Holy, Blessed, blinking
sleep away & sadness. Trying every day to see me, see me, see, devise.

Blessed is the One who also cannot heal Herself without the help of chemists
novelists & farmers, pharmacologists. She, crowned with demons, doesn't demonize.

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Copyright © 2021 Mónica Gomery All rights reserved
from Black Warrior Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission