Synaptic Space
Julie Dunlop
What happens in that leap,
that in-between, that cleft?
Gash in the head from sudden impact—
you mention only your sore ankle and eye
Hang-time between one neuron
downloading its message to the next
Shock of TBI brilliantly protecting
your mind from itself
Neurotransmitters moving swiftly—
the original Wi-Fi
Gaps between your audio messages widen—
Orbital fracture, abscess, craniotomy
“syn” (together) + “haptein” (to clasp)
Through the synapse of wordlessness, we clasp
First photos of your head bandaged post-surgery
texted across the synapse of eight-hundred miles
Each axon terminal conducting
electrical signals like a maestro traffic controller
A month of intravenous antibiotics
multiple times a day and no visitors
In the language of nanometers,
trillions of tiny chemical exchanges
Hard to focus on screens, on anything
as the brain begins knitting itself back together
Neurons and glia working overtime,
satellite cells repairing and regenerating
Watching the slow resurrection from afar
in daily video and audio clips
Circuitry rewiring, regenerating
new pathways like anastomoses
Hearing—piecemeal—the details
of the impact, the ambulance, the accident
Yet another imaging scan—
MRI revealing a meningioma
In the synapses of silence, the mind
wanders, wonders—
Neuro-ophthalmologist says you are
a walking, talking miracle
Slow, gradual return over months to basics:
driving, getting groceries, the kids’ school events
Neurons firing hundreds of times
per second; miracle of myelination
Follow-up MRI in five months;
synapse of the unknown
Rain falling, a rare gift
reminding you of home
In the space between now and then
and not yet, we breathe.