Two Poems
Katherine Lo I Happen to Call My Father While He’s in the Midst of a Panic Attack his words tumbling and jamming like debris at a gutter grate. I begin the litany of questions to calm him. Are you hurt? No. Are you sick? No. Did you eat dinner? Yes. You’re okay, Dad. You just need some sleep. He says Okay. Really, though, he’s not. His brain has forgotten how to tell his body to move. The way a foot lifts, the curl of fingers. He lives surrounded by caregivers but admits he just asked them to call my brother. For what? I ask, but he has no answer. There is no logic to need. He’s calling for someone to make it all right, leaving messages after the beep. I just bought a face cream that costs too much and went for a jog, my own panicked call to keep time at bay. All over, calls are going out. The message light is blinking. That night, I dream of a swan gliding over dark waters, looking for his chicks. They are bobbing, helpless against the current. He lifts his wing to cover them, to settle them against his white feathers, his body already turning, already floating away. The Roofer Next Door hammering, pausing, hammering, is playing a Spanish radio station, song after song of lament-- men singing heartbreak over the thrum of guitars, their voices rising with every verse until they reach that tenor pitch of pain, the language of longing. And when they do, the roofer joins in, flinging his voice over the rooftops with a gusto that suggests a heartbreak of his own, or how hard it is to labor under a blazing sun. Or maybe it’s just the joy that comes in singing a suffering we don’t have to feel ourselves. |
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About the Author: Katherine Lo is a writer and high school English teacher living in Southern California. Her work has previously been published by Poet Lore, Rattle, CALYX, Qu, and Timberline Review.