Waiting for Dark

It starts with an oddity in my vision,
a blank space where something should be
and I wonder, at first, if it is what I think it is.
When the sparkling and flashing begins,
ragged zs and karets and less-than symbols,
all lined up in a flashing semi-circle,
violent against the rest of the world
and pulsing in time with my heartbeat,
well, then I know.

Soon, the light sensitivity begins.
The nausea. Hopefully, I haven’t eaten yet,
but woe betide me if I have.

I take the medicine as soon as I know for sure.
Sometimes, the pill can stop it from hurting as much.
Sometimes, the only thing to do is flee for home.
Home, and a dark room, and a deep and quiet pillow
where I can wait for it to end.

Time takes on another meaning those days.
I always wonder why the good things fly by so quickly
and under migraine, time lengthens like taffy,
bending, stretching, folding and multiplying.

The first real relief is when the sun goes down,
bringing real dark, and with any luck, sleep.
Lovely, velvet sleep.


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