A masculine arm

gently supports along under my shoulder blades

– an aged vine encircling a trunk which moves slowly

shuffling toward where my dinner is served

by young eyes hoping to have pleased

and with the longing for things to be different

glistening momentarily before being swallowed.

An unwritten amendment is being drafted,

bartered.

My hair was brushed.

I was lovingly dressed

and brought to sit

to my meal

where through the steam,

a sliver blade in chubby hands cuts the flesh

into squares

on a chessboard

where the queen is falling

then rests,

watching from the box with mouth ajar ready to speak;

when those with their new documents

answer for me.

By Julie Stephenson

I wrote this when I was very unwell with an autoimmune Demyelination of my peripheral nerves. I could not walk unsupported. I needed help to lift my arms and eat. My role was changed. The role of my family members had changed. My ability to be autonomous and even be respected to have thoughts of my own when I was physically incapacitated nearly destroyed me. But I am here now; embracing my life with courage.