DISCOVERIES
What I knew about
Parkinson’s disease was
tremors, slurred speech,
shuffling gait. I knew
about Muhammad Ali
and Michael J. Fox,
my cousin Jerry in
a wheelchair with
his face a waxen mask
of the face I remembered.
I knew nothing
about these surges
of anxiety brought on
by nothing at all,
or the way dreams
could come to life
in bed and transform
me into a hissing
panther on all
fours, teeth bared,
one paw lashing
out at my wife.
I never imagined myself
stilled from the inside
out, gut filling with
waste, feet at once
numb and afire,
folding into themselves
and losing their grip.
