Short-circuit

The following poem was written after my first TBI (traumatic Brain Injury).

Hopefully this will give you some insight of what recovering from a TBI can be like

For some these things are explained
Spirits, ghosts, another plane.
I for one have felt these things,
Yet answers within I still must bring.

Never before would I believed,
Science background says deceived.
The brain is delicate, and complicated so,
Made it easy to explain, that I know.

Quarter size tear, but changed me how,
Brought me to the point I am now.
Pondering that which I knew so well,
Left me with time, time to dwell.

A misfire, short-circuit, or poor connection,
All names I’ve used
To explain my affliction.
And here I am, still amused.

Amused at myself, my thoughts, my way.
So grounded was I
So certain to stay.
Now such things I let lie.

Gray matter torn.
Who I was before?
That night I died, from whom I was born,
My new life now, no need to restore.

A baby born at thirty-one.
Experience, now what couldn’t be?
The accident happened, that was done
A new me emerges, the things I’ll see.

In the beginning confusion reigned.
Out of body experience, what is my name?
Head exploding, wires amiss,
Must let go of the man called Chris.

To see myself, beside myself,
Understanding and confused,
I willed myself, I willed myself,
Come together, be one, fuse.

Searing pain thru the eye,
Memories lost, least not mine.
Starting from scratch, time to buy
Born at 31, things are fine.

Monica visits more than once,
The phone she uses to announce.
Then in our kitchen, all dressed in white,
She says hello, there is no fright.

Visitors look over while we sleep,
Presence felt,
That I’ll keep.
Taught me things, I have dealt.

Another ghost, in black he’s dressed.
No fear though, without stress.
Even Ms Bea can see him stare,
But for her, the raise of hair.

Vision of Jamie, back at home,
As he prays he turns his neck.
Eye to eye, neither alone,
Miles apart, we connect.

This time asleep, to my side,
Others see an empty hand.
Yet in my palm his resides,
Not in this plane, I understand.

Changing now, I’m not sure why.
Perhaps the world is to blame,
Perhaps its people must learn shame.
Certainty, we cannot buy.

Christopher Hurtubise
8/15/07