Ward (Ollie/Ali in the Mirror)
The doctors are filling out paperwork. Their notes, translations of our original words, are mangled into the computer system. And later extracted, pulled from an ear onto the torn red sofa, spluttering. Someone said, “You are not authorized to make these changes.” Behind closed doors.
Coordinates align—and click—beginning to uncoil the deep knots and strictures.
You step through the fluorescent foyer, metal gate, and into my place. Beside oneself: you are not what you see in the mirror, a silhouette looped in charcoal black and green. The lost tapes slowly, slowly spooling again, somewhat recovered.
Adele Wegner was born in Youngstown, Ohio and lives in Chicago. She is a writer and artist and works in the field of psychology and mental health. Her poems have been published in Columbia Poetry Review and Burningword.