THE MERCY OF PLAY

I am here to give thanks

for the mercy of play.

In the midst of a daunting

and frequently painful process,

I call upon play as my savior.

Even as I grieve for lost mobility

and pray for courage to continue moving

through the pain,

I am alert to opportunities.

Perhaps I search for opportunities.

A butterfly mobile attracts the morning light,

and I take up my camera

placing myself in the midst.

Pears, brought home for their beauty

rather than their edibility,

inspire the playful sprite in me…

while confusing little Star.

Pearl is much more comprehending of the game.

Held captive where I am (still not driving),

and captivated by my physical condition,

I look around me.

Hunger for amusement makes my home

a place of vast amusement,

So I dive in with my little camera

and my simple requirements.

I find that I can thank heaven

for the playful approach

even when the world I inhabit

seems less than playful.

THE NECESSITY OF TRUTH

I HAVE CHALLENGED MYSELF

NOT TO GLOSS OVER

THE LESS ATTRACTIVE ASPECTS OF MY PRESENT LIFE

WHAT I FACE EACH MORNING UPON ARISING

IS AMAZINGLY DIFFICULT

AND BEYOND BELIEF MARVELOUS.

VULNERABILITY IS BALANCED BY

THE NEED TO BE STRONG.

I MUST BE HUMBLE ENOUGH

TO DEPEND ON FAMILY AND FRIENDS

FOR TRIPS TO REHAB,

TO THE GROCERY STORE, ETC…

WHILE HERE AT HOME,

JUST FUNCTIONING

IS MANAGED ON MY OWN.

WHEN SHOWERING,

ONE ARM HANGS LIMPLY, LONGING TO ASSIST

THE OVER-WORKED AND WEARY LEFT.

DRYING REQUIRES TWO TOWELS

AND A MOTHER’S PATIENCE.

MY LESS DOMINIANT ARM IS NOW A MOTHER TO

THE FLEDGLING LEFT BEHIND BY SURGERY.

SHE DOES HER BEST TO NOURISH AND

TO REASSURE HER NEARLY HELPLESS CHILD.

SHE USES UP HER DOUBTFUL STRENGTH

IN SERVICE TO THE FLEDGLING ARM.

SHE TRUSTS THE TASKS TO EVEN UP IN TIME.

THE NURTURED ONE

WILL STRENGTHEN AND RECOVER HOPE.

THE OVERWHELMING STRUGGLE WILL DIMINISH.

AS WILL THE TEARS…

THE PAIN OF SIMPLY MANAGING EACH DAY WILL FADE,

AND GLIMPSES OF ONE’S WHOLENESS WILL BE POSSIBLE.

STAYING WITH MARJORIE

This is the haven of beauty and kindness

that held my recovering body

for nine days after my surgery.

My room looked out on the porch

and the water beyond.

A pastel by my grandmother graced the wall.

Pearl was welcome,

and she tiptoed into a new world

with delicacy and aplomb.

My little cat loved the big porch,

but she never stayed long away

from her recovering human.

Each morning

I peered through my get-well roses

at my cousin, Marjorie, reading her paper.

Out in front 0f the house

a broken pier reminds me of Hurricane Katrina.

Broken can be beautiful.

While my right arm heals

my left arm explores new realms of activity,

even taking an occasional photograph.

Occasional bouts of despair came close,

then were flown away

on the wings of beauty and kindness.