Rose hip
Tart globe of well spent Rose reminds me how we drive miles
down Yonge Street to Thompson’s
Homeopathic Supplies. Bring home pills, tinctures
to prevent and heal chronic and acute ailments. Bring home
double blessed Rose hip Vitamin C., Grandpa's wellness prophecy
a fairytale book, edges worn thin.
I hold back opinion, read block print promises
to clarify blood, make grey hair disappear,
eat a tumor, make her walk again. Farm boy faith
he feeds her handfuls of pills with breakfast
swallows hope with a cup of Red Rose. Come to think of it
when she dies he lives like mortality is optional.
Sees the family doctor first time at 92, all wide-eyed
and untouched and somewhat surprised
there might be parts wearing out by now. Late Fall
I fly in from B.C., see him bed-side on the ward
say I’m pregnant with our third. He says he knows.
Tucked under sterile sheets, he moves his leg
like it’s still there, keeps asking me when
he can go home.
Rose hip won 2nd place in the Hibernating with Words Contest at Pandora's Collective, Vancouver, B.C. http://www.pandorascollective.com/what-we-do/contests/past-contest-winners/oct-2012---contest-winners
