one sunday morning

my granddaughter

is not permitted to get sick

I forbid it. her smile

is too crooked and too beautiful

to rest in a fevered face

she’s highly likely, of course

to be just fine

in a day or two, a random

pediatric bug. of course

she will be fine.

so I’ll look to care for my old dog

who isn’t eating this morning

“off his feed”  they say

as happens to us oldsters

every now and again

so I’ll boil up some rice

mix in a little chicken stock

and give us each a bowl.

we can eat together

ever so carefully

in silence

while we wait for the phone to ring.

2 thoughts on “one sunday morning

  1. Thank you for this poem. My four children were not allowed to be sick. “You’ll be fine”. Except for the one that was sick, if sickness is what you call an incurable disease. How many times did I argue with myself that this beautiful child from his faltering age of one until he was diagnosed at three would “be just fine”, until he wasn’t. What does a parent, a grandparent do, when they can never ease, erase, their child’s disease. In the heart’s well I drew untested waters to soothe my son’s shortened journey, and in so many hours assured him that “he would be fine”. And he was. I also made my large family many bowls of rice and chicken while I waited.

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