“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.
Give me
hands, my hands that work.
I am Amma,
just as I am.
Kristin needs help. She doesn’t ask.
Loss.
Love.
Maggie I can still pick up,
now, today.
Oh, please, will someone give me Atticus?
Quit trying? Never, not ever.
Relaxation and
recuperation, they come later.
Stephanie worries.
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)
Amma Ponders 