Her first love calls her after half a lifetime.
Because she’s happily married, she’s surprised
his voice unsettles her. She finds it hard to sleep.
He e-mails from states away, “We’re passionate people.”
One of the most fundamental features
of the cerebrum is that it is double.
Her husband doesn’t seem threatened.
“You’ve never mentioned him before,” he says.
He says, “Sure, you can e-mail him.”
His trust is one reason she loves him.
One hemisphere is enough to sustain a mind.
She phones her sister, who thinks it’s no big deal.
She presses, “Don’t you remember _______?
From Upstate New York? Don’t you remember
him visiting? I was only fifteen, so you had to drive us
to O’Hare. Don’t you remember how miserably
I cried as we drove away?” The sister says,
“I suppose. But I couldn’t pick him out of a lineup.”
The individual with two intact hemispheres
has the capacity for two distinct minds.
Their indifference amazes her because,
she realizes, some part of her (unknown
to her closest ones, unknown, almost, to herself)
has never stopped thinking of _______.
The left, propositional hemisphere is logical.
She dreams that she and _______ are in a hotel,
naked, before a large bed. Slowly she walks to him,
presses her budded nipples against his chest.
The right, appositional one is perceptual.
His skin is warm and honey-scented, like the baklava
his mother had promised to teach her to bake.
The dialogue between the two hemispheres
is made possible by the corpus callosum.
They never did this in the past that was severed
eighteen years ago. She was a virgin. They met
on family vacation. It was the summer
her breasts filled her own surprised hands
and filled the blue bathing suit she was wearing
when he looked up and saw her diving into a pool.
Unless the corpus callosum is severed.
In her dream, there is a cleaving. Her husband
and two small children are also in the hotel,
and in danger. Somebody desires to bring them
to harm. She starts running, her bare feet
slapping the white tiles, when from high up,
a central courtyard, she hears her baby’s cry.
The right hemisphere juxtaposes perceptions
without analysis or judgment.
It’s a trap, but she has no choice. Runs harder.
Contradiction doesn’t exist.
She wakes wet all over. Her thighs are slick,
and her nightgown is soaked with breast milk.
One is free from having to make a choice.
In the next room, the baby is wailing
for what must have been a long time now.