Dialogue VII

What does it mean to find
these stories and share them

in-between spaces

suspended rooms

I see through cracks

move in inky gravity
solid and melting
I can be lost or returning

her eyes were behind / boxed frames
I could feel them / squinting
she’d take a while to settle / into talk / I thought –
I was wrong /she talked for hours / I learned she was funny
as she bent into her bag / grabbing pills / she smiled
total confidence / as she swallowed

have you ever hidden your diagnosis or avoided sharing it?

one limb can move slower
a string-suspended cube
I am one string snapping

fragility can be dependent
on how much weight
I can tolerate

he’d wanted to tell / his story
it made him / sad sometimes
yes, he was lonely / too
but always generous / with his time
loved by all / though he didn’t know it

where do you feel most comfortable and welcome?

mapping the unseen
testing the landscape
for fog, for dreams
for building

an internal world
population of one
what secrets
do these cubes hold
will they box me in

she was a person of great / reputation
in the community / giving to those struggling
yet, she remained reserved / cool
playing things / close to her chest

how do you manage work when symptoms are their worst?

curving a timeline
light and shadow
obscuring
revealing

re-writing scenes
letting go
everything held
or falling again

yes, he was very sad / sometimes
but adamant that stuff / was small
in the context of days / filled with people
he loved / not to mention / his work
in the community / and his painting

have you ever been excluded because you have Parkinson’s?

an elegy of selves
ghosts restless
inward facing
surviving

will you be the witness
telling a story
as it falls
like a river