Prologue: Oblivion Regenerating

Two words answer
an impulsive question
bubbling from my daydream;
they trigger shock and confusion
steeped in a mirepoix of paranoia.
Dumbfounded in suspended thought,
infernal assailants of old challenge me;
flushing heat, palpitations, dry mouth,
sweating, breathlessness, pronounced
sense of impending doom and the
growing tremble of panic at
my inability to respond.
This is oblivion...
regenerating.


As the enticing aroma of Easter dinner
blends with the scents of tea,
Irish Mist and cigarette
smoke, my wife
Debbie smiles
at a wink
cast her
way.

Kathleen and Geraldine
are relaxing in their patio room,
while my sister Pat and her husband
Mike sit in between us all
carrying on a mirthful
conversation.
They may be
pondering their long
ride home, as Deb and I.

Family members have gathered
in our aunt’s home during holidays
and occasions long gone,
but still warmly
remembered.

Today just the six of us
share company while catching up
on life’s developments.

My mind retreats
into its usual
episodes
of dissociation.

Pat is discussing Aunt Mary,
and perhaps her current quality of life.
“Aunt Mary? Who still keeps in touch with her?”

My interruption presents a serious faux pas,
catching even me completely off guard.
“I do!” Pat rebukes.
After a futile search through
memory for some significance,
Pat's words become an indictment
of disconnection from a once-upon-a-time
important part of our family.

I begin to wonder why I
haven’t kept in touch
also, but come up
short for a
reason.

Abreaction
releases a long-buried
ruminative preoccupation;
re-living the day when Aunt Mary
offered me protection in her home,
at Pat’s request, from her unrelenting
emotional and physical brutalizations.
Aunt Mary insisted, and properly
I suppose now, disillusioned,
upon calling her so she
wouldn’t worry
about where
I was...
Of course
this set into
motion my extradition
back to the darkest and most

dreaded place I have ever known:
home.

Pat and
Aunt Mary’s love
and concern shown
me that day sparked
a promise of
rescue from
her grasp.
But then the
light of that day
got sucked-up inside
the black hole of my soul.
Puzzlement best describes my
gaffe as panic disconnects thought
from all meaningful communications,
in any situation I can ever remember.
How can I possibly explain myself?
I've been cursed my whole life!
To try would be folly and
breed utter disbelief!
I have never told
anyone about
this, ever…