Left

Cristabelle García

The left side of my brain
thinks it knows it all, 
but it doesn’t really.

Only 
the right side knows 
what’s going on. 

When left to its own devices
the left side falls
out of balance, becomes
out of touch with reality.

A blow to the right
and I don’t know
that I don’t know
what’s right.

The left loses subtext
and, in the most tragic 
of instances, humor—

         when the right isn’t there to explain

        the jokes.

The left drops 
nuance, makes things 
simple. 
One, two, three;
counting is king. 

The left side identifies
—which is why, when left alone,
it puts everything in buckets
—left and right, wrong and right.
It’s how it maps the world,
specialization—its M.O. 

On a bi-dimensional plane
going left is going back.
It’s where we lower the
volume, even though
when it comes to our thoughts
the left is the only side with a voice. 

We tend to place the heart on
the left. But

didn’t you know?
It’s roughly in the middle of your chest,
between your left and right lungs.
Just slightly tilted, it whispers
to the left of center. 

And it's on the left side of your face

operated by the right side of your brain, 

where you'll see and understand
human emotion.
The unconscious 
reason we cradle babies
to the left. 

It’s also the side of the page
where some of us
begin again.

Our thoughts

                                                                   scurry

to the right,

only to begin at the left
once more. 

No need to pick a side.

But if you were a tiny human 
standing on the tip of the hour hand or
the minute hand, 

you would only see left or right
—a matter of perspective—
our view narrowed, proportional to
the small space we occupy. 

The left repels reality’s complexity,
relies on certainty.

So a right choice is a right choice.

Seasoned in the art of abstraction,
the left plucks from the garden of context.
Paradoxically, the left also plants, 
reifies. An expert in words and 
their clear meanings, the queen 
of concise. 

The left slices time, and each slice of time
holds a separate thing—even if it’s the same thing, 
changed.
Left by itself, the left becomes
manic, unrealistically positive 
about the self, farther from the truth.
The connection of the whole, severed. 
Like an arm detached from the rest,
the body without its head. 

The left wants to get and grab.

It’s efficient,
or at least it tries. 

Finds the utility in everything
—from truth to teeth,
beds to death. 

My left side prompted me to write
this poem. Recursive,
my left explains 
itself, in spite of 

my cleft brain.

Let’s focus on what matters,
it says,
How about we dispel this urban myth about
the right side of the brain? 

The Science

'Left' is inspired by Iain McGilchrist’s research on the divided brain, particularly his conversation with Sam Harris on the 'Making Sense' podcast (episode #234). McGilchrist asserts that the human brain is structured in two hemispheres that are only partially connected—the consequences of which are sometimes evident in split-brain patients. This understanding of neurological structuring is not without its contention, and thus this poem does not assert scientifically accepted fact but rather reflects the conclusions presented in McGilchrist’s book The Master and His Emissary.

The Poet

Cristabelle García is a Venezuelan-American writer, producer, and director living in San Francisco. She writes creative non-fiction and poetry and was first influenced by Charles Bukowski and David Sedaris. When she’s not enraptured by words, she’s enraptured by food. You’ll often find her reading, tutoring, or eating pizza while watching the show Chef's Table: Pizza (she highly recommends the pairing).

Next poem: Length and Breadth of Quietness by Vijaya Gopal