Dear Parkinson's By Samantha Mossman
Dear Parkinson’s, Some say that sickness can be only a visitation. But you are no weekend visitor, You are a squatter, an unwanted tenant. You arrived without an invitation Or welcoming open arms, And you overstay your welcome. I wish that this was just A phase, a blip, a hiccup, In the long life my dad had before him.
And here you are insidious visitor, Robbing him of the time he has left.
Dear Parkinson’s, You never thought about the burden that your presence would put upon the shoulders of my sisters, my mom, me. You tricked my mom into your scheme, Turned her into Atlas, and made her hold up your world and sky. You never thought about my sisters, Who have made home far away, from the island The place we grew up and they couldn’t get away from fast enough
You never thought how they would deal With the distance from you, from him. Do you torture them every night with thoughts? Or do they live blissfully unaware? Or are they tortured in ways I cannot know?
Dear Parkinson’s, You never thought about me,
The girl who cried at sleepovers from homesickness And called her mom sobbing to be brought home, To her bed, her stuffies, and her mom’s warm embrace, The TV’s light a beacon to the safety that was just next door,
The one who chose a college close by, So that home was always a possibility, The one who comes home every chance she can
HVWP COMMONPLACE 22
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