I Was Going to Speak

I was going to speak tonight
to read aloud to strangers
read aloud a poem penned about past memories of epilepsy

I wondered
what will these strangers think
when they hear the word ‘epilepsy’

will fear bubble beneath polite surfaces, stirring violent images?
will curiosity ripple about what this condition is about?
will sympathy push meaning aside?
will the narrow laser of judgment excise humanity from my soul?
will understanding accept without knowing?

Fortunately most of these things didn’t happen
only one other person was present 
My poem was read with no reaction
Are all these questions phantom worries floating inside my head?
Are they realities for some?

Understanding goes two ways
it’s not all about me......
my own acceptance of how others feel is as important