Prescription Refill

Dx: Depression
Rx: Three cups of chamomile & a spoon of moon daily

Sipping tea on a stool near the kitchen window.
Medicinal, herbal aftertaste. Turn on the burner, replace grief
with humor like that time Hung made the Cornish hen
shimmy across the counter. Everyone shrieked, cracked up,
except me. Tonight, I giggle my heart out.
Quit when the kettle cries.


Dx: Isolation
Rx: Four evening waltzes between trees in Lake Merritt

Escape the living room cell. Slide down the banister.
Hail a cab. Hop out. Spin through the pathways like a ballerina,
spin until the hem of my tutu tears from the splinters of a sycamore.
Twirl among the veiled trysts of women and men,
between the legs of Labradors and chihuahuas,
dance crazy, dance wild as bewildered strangers stare.


Dx: Insomnia
Rx: Two-hour visualization of blind hawks in black fields

Muted mind, midnight silhouettes, wings in flight.
Eyes shut, astral traveling past REM,
past darkness, past restlessness and gloom
hollowing my dreams with a hundred holes
until I am drowsy, angstless & out of body on Mars, on Mercury,
until I can hear my giggle like a chorus from space.