Agnosthesia*
Severe thunderstorms. The power blinks, but stays on.
Solid red light on my Internet device. My home phone
and cell use the same tower. Now I’m cut off from
the world, from those who call occasionally. I can’t
check on a friend in the hospital, can’t participate
in my poetry Zoom. I wanted to be more of a hermit,
have longed to divorce my screens, had already turned
off the radio. Years ago, I gave away my television.
Wish granted, I don’t know how I feel about this
temporary electronic isolation. What am I missing?
What if I have a medical emergency, fire or break-in?
I can’t call for help. My anxiety rises like a pot
bubbling toward overflow, and then subsides
with one stir of my reasoning spoon. I reassure
myself the tower will be repaired soon.
A day or two without connection is a gift.
But is it? What if? What if? We’re under
a heat dome, temps in the nineties, more storms
on the way. Therefore, no fire danger.
And no fear of flooding. I have water, AC,
and a generator. I reposition
couch cushions and pillows to read a book.
Or ten of them. I’m on silent retreat.
I put up my feet, resolve to savor this brief treat.
*Agnosthesia. noun. the state of not knowing how you really feel about something.
(from The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows)
Joan Mazza has worked as a medical microbiologist, psychotherapist, and taught workshops nationally on understanding dreams and nightmares. She is the author of six self-help psychology books, including Dreaming Your Real Self (Penguin/Putnam). Her poetry has appeared in Crab Orchard Review, The MacGuffin, Slant, Prairie Schooner, Poet Lore, The Nation, and many other publications. She lives in rural central Virginia, where she writes every day.
Severe thunderstorms. The power blinks, but stays on.
Solid red light on my Internet device. My home phone
and cell use the same tower. Now I’m cut off from
the world, from those who call occasionally. I can’t
check on a friend in the hospital, can’t participate
in my poetry Zoom. I wanted to be more of a hermit,
have longed to divorce my screens, had already turned
off the radio. Years ago, I gave away my television.
Wish granted, I don’t know how I feel about this
temporary electronic isolation. What am I missing?
What if I have a medical emergency, fire or break-in?
I can’t call for help. My anxiety rises like a pot
bubbling toward overflow, and then subsides
with one stir of my reasoning spoon. I reassure
myself the tower will be repaired soon.
A day or two without connection is a gift.
But is it? What if? What if? We’re under
a heat dome, temps in the nineties, more storms
on the way. Therefore, no fire danger.
And no fear of flooding. I have water, AC,
and a generator. I reposition
couch cushions and pillows to read a book.
Or ten of them. I’m on silent retreat.
I put up my feet, resolve to savor this brief treat.
*Agnosthesia. noun. the state of not knowing how you really feel about something.
(from The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows)
Joan Mazza has worked as a medical microbiologist, psychotherapist, and taught workshops nationally on understanding dreams and nightmares. She is the author of six self-help psychology books, including Dreaming Your Real Self (Penguin/Putnam). Her poetry has appeared in Crab Orchard Review, The MacGuffin, Slant, Prairie Schooner, Poet Lore, The Nation, and many other publications. She lives in rural central Virginia, where she writes every day.