A mother's hands are neatly folded
She speaks, and her voice is neat as well.
"When you have a dismemberment," she says.
And her voice is
like her hands are:
steady.
"We were lucky," she says,
so earnestly we almost believe
for a moment
that what she is describing is luck.
"We found all the parts,
except her hands and feet."
And this is when her own hands rise
to do their work
they cover her face
but tell their own story of pain.
And I think of a photo
It's my daughter at age five,
sitting in tan oak bark in a playground
This is the first photo I have
in which I could see how
changed her hands and feet were
how time's passage could be marked
in the shape and work of her hands and feet
how much of her story they hold.
Treasure has another mother
She speaks plainly
"All the things I prayed wouldn't happen,
happened."