Sylvie Hide and Seek
I startle awake
after sixty minutes’
sleep because I’m
shaking tight and hard,
a shiver like my soul
is freezing cold. The doctor
called it tremor, side effect
of the new meds meant
to keep me calm, said
when I called panicked
that there was nothing
to worry about. Don’t worry,
I tell myself, teeth
grinding teeth into paste,
this horrible feeling is
apparently normal. Get up, Winslow
tapping by the door—
in sympathy? No, to pee,
and I leash him, hands
unsteady, open the door
and he pulls
and pulls harder and then I’m not
holding the leash anymore,
I’m lurching forward
like a car crash, I’m face down
on the ground, my dog a gold flash
in the night. Winslow, I yell,
Winslow, come back, gravel
in my chin, blood in my eyes,
struggling up in time to see
one more thing
disappear into the night.