Chronic Stillness

The first time I see

the diagnosis

in black and white

I am relieved to have

an answer, at least

I know why my body

and brain are like

puzzle pieces that don’t fit

why the ache of living

seems to belong to only me

Remember to wash down

the sugar sweet poison

with plenty of water.

They say my heart won’t last

if I keep this charade

The choice is

death or death

What do you choose,

the body, or the mind?

Would you trade in

your brightest thoughts

for the promise of

a few, tired years?

Zenaida Macroura

I used to think

the mourning dove

was a morning dove

and relish the sorrow in its call.

We greet the day with a dirge,

minor keys and melancholy.

Each sunrise is a little death

I am less of who I was

and more of who I am.

Oh woeful dove,

show me the meaning of sadness

so I might know when I feel joy

Megan Jauregui Eccles lives in the foothills of San Diego and is a novelist, professor, and accidental poet. When she’s not rehoming rattlesnakes, she plays Dungeons and Dragons with her five sons and hatches a variety of poultry.