Fever Dreams

Ryan Karimi, MD/PhD WB

I sit and struggle against the weight
Of 41º and change.
I sit upright coughing blood 
Into the cool water of the tub.

I thought by now
I might remember my name.
But who am I to say?
My mind is melting into the tub.

Clots of dark red float on the water.
I feel too weak to shiver.
I can only close my eyes.
In flame-licked visions
I see a tree with roots
Punching down and through
The cool, dark earth.
Every rootlet coalesces into one.

And thousands of branches unfurl
Like lifetimes glistening in the sun.
And now they’re burning,

Smouldering at the tips, flames crawling
Backwards slowly, ever-hungry
As sixteen becomes eight
Becomes four becomes two.
And when the fire is finally done,
Every branch is tinged with ash but one.

I hack and sputter, tremble in the tub.
My foot knocks the plug. I curse.
The water is lost to the cool, dark earth.

From the window I can only watch
The tree in the backyard smoulder,
Slowly drying in the dying light
Of the smoky, swelling sun.

Tender daydreams hang plump 
From every branch but one.