As a child
the only ride
I would take
at the county fair
was the Ferris wheel.
I’d revel in the
ecstasy of weightlessness,
baby fat forgotten.
Now diabetes keeps me grounded.
Feet heavy as lead
I pass by cotton candy, ice cream,
high-flying diet nothing but a scream.
Seagulls feed on my husband’s vomit
speckled with breakfast egg.
Three hours he slumps over the wheel
in the mall parking lot, focusing vision
fighting off nausea. In our driveway
he honks the horn, asks for an apple
but cannot eat. The electric fear
in his eyes shocks me. He slowly returns
from a place I have never been.
Jan Chronister writes in the woods near Maple, Wisconsin. Her full-length poetry collection Caught between Coasts is due out from Clover Valley Press in September 2018.