Annalee Johnson-Kwochka
BROKEN SONNET: APOLOGY TO STRIPE THE CAT, 2001-2014
In January my pastor says Oh,
but the kingdom of heaven is breaking
into our lives—At night I took my pill
(although it hasn't polished the sun's rays
or filled the pits in my eggshell mind)
and said goodnight—but I did not take you
(neighborhood warrior, terror of songbirds)
down to bed with me—because the vet said
you were dying, a failure of the heart,
oh heart, oh love—I could not bear the thought
of you, dead, while I slept and woke. Before
you, I dreamed of suicide; the kingdom
of heaven breaking, falling into and
finally filling the hidden, slick cavern—
my mind. But now—you, dead, while I sleep and
then wake to find your body so broken—
now my night terrors tell only of after,
after my body—the blood—I wake sweating
from dreams of my Love's graceful body
finding me, the light breaking from his eyes,
his own kingdom broken. Sometimes
I could live just off of loving him.
Listen, I'm sorry, dear friend, I'm sorry,
but—thank you, for breaking into my mind.
* * *
MOTHERS OF SONS WITH SCHIZOPHRENIA
quotes from thesis research interviews
This is the way we live now,
she says. The new normal.
I grieve for the child I had,
all the hopes—there is a way
of looking at the body, sideways,
to see all past and future
bruises collected in the crease
between husk and harvest —
I saw him lost in the illness.
On a bell curve, we're that piece
way over there. Is that acceptable
to talk about? It's a new world.
But he's mine. I
would take him anywhere.
Annalee Vilen Johnson-Kwochka is a recent graduate of Davidson College in North Carolina, where
she majored in Disability Studies. Her first chapbook, Opening the Doors of the Temple, was the winner of the 2014
Pioneer Prize and is available through ELJ Publications. Her poems have also appeared in Pinesong and
Emerge Literary Journal.
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