When I Had My First Seizure
by Zachary C. Bush
The bedroom turned green
And seaweed rained down
From the ceiling. Jack sat
In a chair in the corner, smiling
And nodding his head, telling
Me, “I was right all along.”
From my bed, through the wood
Blinds, I saw two boys with Bibles,
Standing outside my house, banging
On the front door. I looked
Across the room and Jack turned
Away from me. Whistling and fumbling
Through the dresser drawers. He was looking
For something. I asked,
“Do you hear the noises?”
But Jack wouldn’t turn. The boys were screaming,
“Open, open-up now!” And when they heard nothing?
I watched them push the knots of their short
Black ties up to exposed veins that ran
Down into the tight collars of their white shirts. Then
The boys started banging harder. Not knowing what to do,
I looked down at my hands. They were shaking.
I took grip of the finger nearest my right thumb and started
Twisting the middle knuckle lefty-loosy as fast as I could,
Until the finger came off my hand
And into my hand. I glanced at the blinds.
The boys had not left so,
I worked on the left one until two
Fingers lay in front of me.
Jack mumbled something and I looked up.
He was facing me,
Holding a hammer, laughing.
The boys were screaming now,
Slapping the face of the door with their books, and I stood before
I stumbled down the half-lit hallway and into the kitchen. I
Opened the fridge and placed the
Disconnected fingers between one
Half-consumed Baby Ruth and a framed
Black and white portrait: my little cousin crying.
