Nicole Sealey, Anamnese

 
Anamnese

’k Haw swier west. ’k Haw seks hân mei in man
dy’t seks hân hat mei manlju. Ik kin net sliepe.
Us mem hat en ús mem har mem hie
astma. Us heit hat in oerhaal hân. Us heit
syn mem hat hege bloeddruk.
Beide pakes binne stoarn oan sûker.
Ik drink. Ik smook net. Xanax as ik flean.
Propranolol tsjin eangst. ’k Haw minne eagen.
Wurd kjel fan wyn. Nicht Lilly stoar doe’t by har
in slachier skuorde. Tante Hilda: in hertoanfal.
Omke Ken, wiis as er wie, waard skept
troch in auto as woe er hokfoar teory ek
dêr’t ik op ta skriuw wjerlizze. En, sa begryp ik,
de stjerren oan de himel binne al dea.

 
Oantekening fan de auteur. Hoewol’t de lêste rigel wat oars suggerearret, binne de stjerren oan de himel heechstwierskynlik net dea. De ôfstân tusken de stjerren en ús is sa grut dat wy inkeld de helderste stjerren sjen kinne, oftewol de meast libbene.

 

Medical History

I’ve been pregnant. I’ve had sex with a man
who’s had sex with men. I can’t sleep.
My mother has, my mother’s mother had,
asthma. My father had a stroke. My father’s
mother has high blood pressure.
Both grandfathers died from diabetes.
I drink. I don’t smoke. Xanax for flying.
Propranolol for anxiety. My eyes are bad.
I’m spooked by wind. Cousin Lilly died
from an aneurysm. Aunt Hilda, a heart attack.
Uncle Ken, wise as he was, was hit
by a car as if to disprove whatever theory
toward which I write. And, I understand,
the stars in the sky are already dead.

 
Note from the author. Though the last line of the poem suggests otherwise, the stars in the sky are most likely not dead. The distance between the stars and us is so great that we can only see the brightest stars, which is to say the most alive.

 

Ut Ordinary Beast, Ecco, New York 2017. Oernommen mei tastimming fan de auteur.

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