This visceral meditation on chronic illness builds through accumulating catastrophes: howling winds, firestorms, earthquakes, hurricanes. Each stanza presents nature’s violence alongside small assertions of survival—”they will survive,” “they will shelter,” “we shall not be blinded”—creating a rhythm of destruction and resilience. The structural genius emerges in the pivot toward the body: “In the crawl of my skin underneath / In the constant itching and irritation.” What seemed external becomes terrifyingly internal. The hurricane’s eye becomes both literal and figurative—the calm surrounded by destruction that chronic illness creates. The closing lines achieve quiet power: “There is no calm until… / I become it / In the center.” Plahm transforms the impossible wish of the title into spiritual discipline. The author’s note anchoring this to Alpha-Gal Syndrome grounds the abstract imagery in lived experience, making “Umbrellas down, please / The war of resolution / is about to start” feel less like metaphor than battle cry.

A powerful illness narrative that earns its epic scope. The cascading natural disasters could feel excessive, but Plahm maintains control through the tight parallel structure and the gradual inward movement from cosmic to corporeal. The pivot to bodily symptoms—itching, crawling skin, rashes—lands with visceral impact precisely because it follows global catastrophe. The hurricane’s eye metaphor, while familiar, is deployed with fresh purpose here: chronic illness as perpetual storm with fleeting centers of calm. The closing realization—that peace must be embodied rather than sought—elevates the poem from complaint to wisdom. Minor weakness: the parenthetical “(I Wish)” in the title slightly undercuts the hard-won transcendence of the ending. The author’s note, while contextually helpful, perhaps over-explains what the poem itself communicates. Still, this ranks among Plahm’s most structurally ambitious and emotionally resonant works.