When the vertigo hits
it is not your body
That spins.
It is not
your head
that becomes weightless.
When the vertigo hits
it is the room that spins.
And your head?
It weighs 500 pounds.
When the vertigo hits
the world spins.
The room, the house,
the trees, the sky,
the stars -
even the stars will spin.
But especially
the walls and
the ceiling, they spin.
When the vertigo hits
no amount
of strength
can hold the boulder
that used to be
your head.
This flimsy rod
they call a neck,
these lumpy wings
they call shoulders.
How were they ever
strong enough
to hold your head?
When the veritgo hits
your knees
will buckle,
your feet
will lose the floor,
your eyes
will close,
your hands
will claw at the carpet.
And the room will keep
right on spinning.
When the vertigo hits,
you ask:
How bad is it
this time?
Will you spend
the day in bed?
A night in the hospital?
Give up weeks
to the meds -
suffering with
dry mouth and
foggy thoughts?
Or
When the vertigo hits
will you
summon the strength
to push through
the spins?
Resist the urge
to lie still and
end the swirling?
When the vertigo hits
will you
lean into it,
roll toward it,
open your eyes,
lift your head -
and walk again?
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