Portrait of recovery with ants

I.

I used to think recovery is linear,
but now I understand it looks more like this:

wandering in the reeds, believing the end

must be around the bend, or

two, maybe three, curves away.
Three osprey watch you overhead.

Omens of good luck you think.
Or maybe they are laughing at you for

making meaning out of birds and boardwalks.
They guide you by flying in circles.

II.

The doctor tells you to remember these words:
Ball, cow, moon.
The doctor tells you to count down from 100 by 7s.
You are going down, but it's definitely not by 7s.
The doctor tells you to touch their finger as they move it,

then touch your nose.

Touch left. Touch nose.

Touch up. Touch nose.
Touch.
Nose.
Touch.
The doctor tells you your brain is a bruised peach.
The doctor prescribes staring at the wall and waiting.

You try to remember the three words.
Do you remember the words?
Do you remember when you were invincible?
Meanwhile, Notre Dame burns.

III.

It's been two, maybe three, weeks of waiting.
You want to be like the blue jay outside

your window, but you are a peach.
You wonder if your heart is starting to rot too.
It might explain why there are so many ants.
Someone asks you if you believe in God.
You say no, unless he is the ant you've watched

walk the perimeter of your ceiling each hour.
He is telling you that life goes in circles. He

is telling you, you will fall off if you don't keep walking.
Keep walking.

Honorable Mention for the 2020 Small Orange Emerging Woman Poet Honor

Lauren Puglisi received honorable mention in Small Orange Journal’s 2020 Emerging Woman Poet Honor. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in blood orange, Hanging Loose, The Merrimack Review, Blacklist Journal, and Laurel Moon. She holds a BA from Brandeis University and is an MSW candidate at Silberman School of Social Work at Hunter College. She is based in New York City.