Poem of the Week | July 29, 2024

“Honestly Ill” by Christine Barkley is our Poem of the Week.

Christine Barkley is an Irish-American writer based in the Pacific Northwest. Her poems and personal essays have appeared or are forthcoming in the Yale Review, Manhattan Review, the Journal, Massachusetts Review, Grain, the Indianapolis Review, Hole In The Head Review, Salamander, Portland Review, and the Pinch, among others. She is a poetry reader for TriQuarterly and the Maine Review.

Honestly Ill

The body is a horror before all embellishments,
and what relief. To find such breadth between
lies. To come so far. To say I walked uphill
both ways, and truthfully. That every valley
asked of my knees what will you endure
to follow rivers, to reach some shore.
My answers to climbing were
correct, and down. There were stairs
cut into stone. And the steps sawed
through bone, and I made allowances
again. I let land slide. I loved it
enough. I stripped everything
in solidarity, crumbling at mines
and clearfells. I suffered
snakes and goatheads. I meant nothing
symbolically. I was swimming when I wasn’t
running. I was summiting. I was holding myself
under, testing the senses of dread. And they lifted
me low. And from such heights or depths I could see
only as far as oxygen, and was as numb to ease
as to ache. Pulling eyelashes without wishing.
Failing the burdens of distance. And putting aside
the pills which did not work, which made me worse,
which asked of me what will you endure
in order to endure. To pass the hundred-mile mark.
To say I have come so far and continue,
I cannot. I wanted to die on descent,
having achieved. I wanted some health
to risk. I am doubling back with all of my nothing
left to lose, and what relief in the truth.
And what horror now coming down
from this one hill where I will not die
to this whole world
where I cannot live.

Author’s Note

An alarmingly common experience for the chronically ill is one of invalidation, whether direct or through insidious phrases like “you look healthy” and “you’re too young to be sick.” At the same time, disabled people are at risk for being blamed for our disabilities when we do “look sick”—if we don’t work harder than able-bodied folks to maintain the health we have, or if illness prevents us from taking care of ourselves. Many have expressed confusion at the apparent contradiction of my symptoms with my interest in fitness. There are months where I’m unable to stand in the shower, while during a week of reduced pain I may be able to hike up a mountain. My good days do not mean that my disabilities are not disabling, and pushing through the bad days takes more perseverance and resilience than summiting. The endurance required to self-advocate amidst the indignity and cruelty of medical gaslighting is, unfortunately, often even greater.