Since my injury, I have discoveredmy left hand is still a child.It can’t brush its own teethor wash its own face.It can’t even spoon itself foodwithout spilling.Its scrawl reveals itto be perhaps three or four, at most,despite its advanced vocabulary.The right hand has always held custodybut now the left hand is in charge,home alone, playing... Continue Reading →
It is December in Alabamaand everyone has the fluor strep throat or a sinus infection.My own throat is raw with swallowingwords that are not mine.I have been waiting in this room for an hour.There is nothing here but a blank wall,a metal chair, the exam table, and a red sharps container.There is no window to... Continue Reading →
Each year at Christmas my grandmother sendsa paper bag of shelled pecans.This year I find not halvesbut dozens of perfect whole pecans,naked and golden brown,surely impossibilities with shells so hardand flesh so soft.When I was a child, pecanswere the only nuts my hands could crack,and as the sweet meat broke anointedinto bits on the plate,I... Continue Reading →
So many lovely mornings spent with theseFive rows of coral wood in tracks aligned;This heirloom toy has welcomed trembling kneesAnd hands to spin spun glass down planes inclined.My father’s mother watched rough wood grow mildBeneath the lathe that smoothed the splinters bare;An uncle’s gift to an abandoned childWhose loving heart learned only how to share.And... Continue Reading →
