Tag: pain

Calling my name

Published on by Maciej ModzelewskiLeave a comment

My name means ‘gift of Yahweh,’ which is ironic
considering I don’t believe in deities,
and even more so since I was the sole reason
for my parents’ marriage in the first place,
and it wasn’t a happy one. If I were to guess,
they probably had no idea. But come to think of it,
even if I had a name as solid as Peter,
I would still have to get used to being alone
and learn to live with the pain
gradually spreading throughout my arm.
And while I never liked it, it seems having a name
chosen on a whim wasn’t the worst thing after all.

Trifles

Published on by Maciej ModzelewskiLeave a comment

Time measured by worn shirt collars and holes in socks,
or by glyphs drawn haphazardly by seagulls on windows
to be washed away by rain eventually, or by the varying
intensity and amplitude of pain in an arm—is it truly all
but nothing? After all, if I learned anything over time,
it was to appreciate a piece of home-made flatbread
with Moroccan-style hummus and black or green olives,
spiced with Sir Roger’s complaints about nightingales
and strumpets at Spring Garden.

Pain

Published on by Maciej ModzelewskiLeave a comment

‘Pain doesn’t kill.’ ‘I know that, you daft prick—its cause does; it might.’ I thought
I was used to it—it’s been three years, after all—but lately it has gotten worse,
waking me up too early in the morning—which in itself is a real pain
because how can I get through the day on too little sleep?—and restricting my movements.
Yet, I do nothing about it because going to the doctor seems like a hassle I’d rather avoid,
and I hate pills.

It’s not like I suddenly discovered some hitherto latent adoration for the Book of Job
or awakened masochistic tendencies, though I suspect the almighty geezer,
who, it turns out, lived in an apartment in Brussels, would love that. On second thought,
he wouldn’t—where’s the fun when the tormented get pleasure from the ordeal? In reality,
it’s probably about energy conservation and the fact that I’ve already produced offspring,
or I’m just lazy.

an oil painting showing a thinker among books

Journal (A bowl of petunias)

Published on by Maciej Modzelewski1 Comment

Waking up in the middle of the night with a pain in my chest always reminds me of my mortality. It’s not like I think about death all the time, but touching on the subject with such an emphatic reminder is inevitable. At least I’m not superstitious like my father was, who, when asked about making a will in the face of cancer, became really upset, treating the suggestion as a wish for his death. But maybe I just had more time to get used to my condition. After all, I was born with it.

Perhaps it’s a lack of imagination on my part, but the idea of dying has never terrified me. And not because of my Catholic upbringing, with the morbid theatrics of Ash Wednesday and the promise of the resurrection of the dead that I never consciously believed in, not since I left the innocence of childhood. I simply find existence itself rather mundane and prefer to think of myself more as a bowl of petunias than a sperm whale, if I were to refer to Douglas Adams’s iconic The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.