Kiki says that when she has anxiety attacks,
what works for her is to get air.
So now I open the window,
make sure to look up at the trees
because trees are on my side,
except for the sad, scrawny ones
that need hugs more than I do.
Clouds are on my side, too,
but howling dogs are not,
loud screaming TVs are not,
but I look in another direction
and see a sliver of moon.
Kiki says, “Remember to breathe
and your normal consciousness will return.”
Kiki talks about consciousness
deliberately, as if it has more
than three syllables, like it’s a destination,
as if everyone’s on a train,
a train to consciousness.
I bet Kiki’s friends sit around
and talk about consciousness.
Maybe for them it’s like a resort,
a place to visit on a long weekend,
pack up, take the dog.
That’s where the weather is perfect
and also very calm.
Not like my consciousness.
I try to remember that the main me
is still in here somewhere.
Sometimes, like now, it helps
if I chant under my breath:
“I am here now, I am here now,
I am here now, I am here now.”