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.
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.
“in so many hours assured him that “he would be fine”. And he was. ” yes he was, as are we, as excruciating as this must be. Tears