Martha Silano

Possible Diagnosis

What’s that stone, that one stone edging
toward the edge? In Italian, for spider,
say ragno. Say web 

in a musical spell. I was with a friend,
on my last round. When I told her
I might be dying, 

she was my dictator of snow, holding me
and my gone-berserk nerves.
I told her my mother 

puts the relevant clues in crossword puzzles:
Riley, refs, and palomas. Isn’t she
the best cheerer-upper ever? 

Maybe I’m a witch for the drama cauldron,
maybe I just need more sleep, more
nooky, cookies-n-cream. 

Old and unheavy, in need of rest. God?
I don’t quite believe, but at night
I let myself go fetal, 

hands pressed like that plastic pair Svennie found
at a thrift store in Shelton. To breathe.
To swallow. Now I understand: 

incurable might not be the worst thing. Upsides, like creasing
the cloth napkins, carrying them down to their home
in a living room drawer, 

admiring the spotted towhee making a ruckus in dead leaves.
I thought it would be like a thumb coming down
on a spider’s body, but it was not.

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Martha Silano is a poet living with a diagnosis of ALS. Her most recent collection is Gravity Assist (Saturnalia Books, 2019). Martha’s poems have appeared in Poetry, Paris Review, American Poetry Review and The Best American Poetry series, among others. Her website is available at marthasilano.net.