On Panic

When panic comes like an unannounced relative,

Like the distant kind you don’t even buy Christmas presents for,

The one you invite over but only comes every fourth year,

Open your door

Clear the clutter from your coffee table

Bring your favorite blanket out and allow your visitor to kick its feet up and say “I’m here”

Do not force it to leave

Allow it to stay,

And listen

Cuddle up and feel the clammy flesh against your body

Tuck your head into the crook of it neck

Hear the surety of its erratic heart beat against your ear

Mold yourself against it and listen to its story

Understand its journey

Why it hadn’t come last Christmas

How it cried when it hit a raccoon on the way here

Twine your legs together and learn what brought it to your door

Then when it’s done

And it trembling voice has quieted,

Its clenching fists have unraveled and finally rested,

Bundled up in the part of the blanket you kept warm with your thigh,

Devour it

Eat every muscle and tendon

Gnash its stomach into nutrients

Suck the bone marrow out, do not leave a bit behind

And digest it

So the next time it comes,

Have the coffee table already cleared

Have its favourite blanket ready