“Amma, p’ease pick me up,” pleads Adaline.
But I must say,
“Can’t do it, my sweet girl.
Do you want to climb up on the couch and we can
eat some blueberries?”
F–k, I say in my head.
God help me.
hands, my hands that work.
I am Amma,
just as I am.
Kristin needs help. She doesn’t ask.
Maggie I can still pick up,
Oh, please, will someone give me Atticus?
Quit trying? Never, not ever.
recuperation, they come later.
She sees me struggle.
Tuesday I will play with them
under the trees outside.
Voices will sing and we will laugh.
Wednesday I will rest and maybe hurt.
X-rays of my hands and wrists and spine
yell at me to be careful.
Zebras at the zoo? Let’s go!
(This is an alpha-poem (look at the first letter of each line) started during a workshop titled “Writing Through Grief and Loss” led by Ray McGinnis, author of Writing the Sacred)