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,
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
on a chessboard
where the queen is falling
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.