The air coils around my head like an animal,
muscular, supple, with a weight unexpected
for so slight a creature. I close my eyes
and feel the pressure building.
A boa constrictor oozes down my skull,
layering its iron bands across my cheekbones,
pressing the back of my neck,
draping its infinite spine across the ridge of my shoulders.
I feel it ease down, settling, squeezing,
covering me like a living mantle.
All day long my head throbs under its embrace.
There is something beautiful, luxurious
about this presence of the weather in my head.
At this season, the climate is my constant,
a companion at every hour, every breath.
The muffled world passes by
while I sit in contemplation of this presence
laid upon me. Like an augur
I can foretell the future from its touch,
the secret snaking through my cranium.
I close my eyes and predict storms,
sunshine, rain and wind, the fate of air masses.
It’s marvelous – this pain that transforms
and makes me live the patterns of the world.
Come, speak to me as I study the space within;I will tell the secrets of future time.
This poem is a little experiment in tone and immediacy. I get sinus headaches during major weather shifts, and I had a headache for almost 3 days straight last week. The only way to deal with it was obviously to write a poem and sleep extra, so I did both!