Hey, everyone. This is a busy month, so I won’t be writing any blog posts. Instead I’m going to put up a poem each week. I’m also going to be moving my blog soon–hopefully, right after Thanksgiving. Take care!
This one was started at Laity Lodge, in Julia Kasdorf’s poetry workshop.
I’m not the mom for this,
For a 10-year-old boy with a congenital defect.
Too many hospitals in my past —
The antiseptic smell shuts me down as soon as we check in.
The overwhelming flowers in the room, with big bows and bright foil.
The constant beeps and whistles.
“Can I watch TV?” my son says, free from pain
for the first time in his life.
“Sure.” I lost control of the TV that day.
I sleep in the chair, dream of my first hospital trip,
much younger than my son.
“So many tubes,” my dad said.
My son wakes to find a three-point scar
and a lifelong talent
for forecasting the weather by knee.
The nurse comes in with a plastic 1-liter bottle.
“Hey, there, big guy. Think you can pee in this?
Just point and shoot.”
He tries to do it, but he can’t.
Somehow I help.
I’m the mom.
“Nurses rule” I say.
And he smiles for the first time that day
and adds, “Doctors drool.”