the etymology of the word illness,
or ill, traces back to the old Norse
word for evil. during her treatment
for cancer, my mother had fevered
dreams of stabbing, of murdering really,
her own waste after they removed
her necrotic colon and fixed a bag
to her hip. a hospital therapist
questioned her and deemed the dreams
suicidal ideation. they strapped her arms
to the bedframe for the remainder of the day.

beauty is that which returns us
to innocence. i admire too much that
which, like a poem, risks its own obscurity.
i drank to avoid dreams and escape the unreal.
which one is ill, and therefore evil,
the affliction or the afflicted? someone
once told me that the eyes, in the dark,
with the eyelids closed, still make
every effort to see. that night i didn’t
sleep. i listened to my heartbeat
in my temples until it became
like a faucet dripping. the thickness
of light i feel in my throat
gets mistaken always for healing.

– J.M. Baker

Author’s Note: “root” is part of a larger work called “dis/order,” which explores the frequencies of trauma and mental illness as they become embodied – and disguised – in the domestic rituals of family life.