This poem is published as part of the Amplifying Disabled Voices special section, selected by editors Christopher Heuer, Marlena Chertock, and Gregory Luce.
ODE TO SPOUSES OF DIABETICS AND HOW THEY FIND US
in the darkened kitchen
at 3:16AM
in our underwear shirtless
spotlit by the light
of the open fridge
our right hand wearing
a whole rotisserie chicken
like a winter mitten
like an edible oven glove
a scattering of exposed bones
across the linoleum all around us
like the leftovers of already been hatched insects
a few cracked pistachio shells
like oversized birdseed
and two opened rectangles
of naked white cheese
are waiting to be bitten into
on the white windowsill
while a squirt of mustard
on the microwave’s see-through face
dribbles down in slow-motion
and we diabetics are half drunk
not on booze
but on two dizzy
and opposite truths
the brief half-open window
where treating low blood sugar means
eating whatever savior we want
in the name of survival
and what a joy to abandon the nuisance
of nutritional charts
to wherever they tumble
out of existence
because we have returned to the heaven
of unencumbered eating
and always our lovers watching
like quiet shepherds in the background
like rock band managers
one eye on their lover on stage
one eye on their lover’s glucose monitor
themselves in their own polite dance
between when to let us paddle further
into the pantry
and when to throw us the grappling hook
to pull us out of the deep
so holy so so holy
are our lovers
who keep chaperoning us through
this delicate dodging of our own deaths
because what brief windows
between deadly tidal waves
all of us together as couples must rediscover
the muscles to open up wider and to laugh inside
and to laugh outside too
for what has been dangerous
on this tiny night
in this little minute
will now be survived
so back to this brief delight
of us diabetics at 3:17AM
beside the cool cherry pool
of a gallon of Greek yogurt
or a whole cherry pie
or a half a tray of cold lasagna
on the counter
and all of the waters
tasty and calm and wide open
and all of us about to shallow-wade
no handed
and with our whole faces
as if snorkeling
and without thinking finally (thank you)
right into every single one
Ephraim Scott Sommers is Type-1 Diabetic and the author of two books: Someone You Love Is Still Alive (2019) and The Night We Set the Dead Kid on Fire (2017). Currently, he lives in Rock Hill, South Carolina and is an Associate Professor of English at Winthrop University. He is also an actively touring singer-songwriter. For music and poems, please visit: www.ephraimscottsommers.com.
Featured image in this post is, “Open refrigerator with food at night” By W.carter – licensed creative commons via Wikimedia Commons.
