reunion
my grandmother's left leg ended
not with a foot
but inches more than a knee
smooth and rounded
soft as an ear lobe
the skin drawn and tucked
folded over, stitched
into place like an ivory patch
into a heirloom quilt
other times blushing raw
from the wear of a tensor bandage
or man's woolly sock
fitted into her mechanical limb
an impromptu pyjama party
this night, she perches on the freshly peeled
bed, her petite frame curled, looking supple
as a round of dough ready to be kneaded
and waves good-night to us
with her milky stump
giggles and mirth
to replenish our barren moods
the night before we bury her son
bridges
it was all too clinical for me
his explanations that he felt nothing
couldn't feel the balloon red of her crushed lungs
saddle blue hiss of her last breath
against his mind
the way I did
all because he was once a city cop-
one too many cooled bodies
musty fridges, blank inside
except for a soured half bottle of milk
one more diaper rash-bottomed child
destined for ministry' care
the very service he also vehemently denied
from personal experience
as any respectable bridge between troubled teens
and their parents
still, how could it make sense
this callousness towards us
her shattered sunset
my own splintered images
calming babble once home again
of having intricately daubed her face
with my cotton tank top
until her muted gurgles slowly ceased
sadly, no more than the accident itself-
not a block from her driveway
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Donna Hill lives in British Columbia, Canada with her three sons. She has
been seriously writing poetry for a few years now, drawing much of her
writing style for realism from life around her, her family, and her work as
a child educator. She currently is poetry editor of Erosha, a literary
journal of the erotic. Donna's poems have appeared in print issues of One Dog Press, Sex in Public, Poems
Niederngrasse and Peshekee River and have also been published online by
numerous literary webzines. Her poem, "my hands write when I need them to," took first prize in Comrades first annual poetry contest, while "the moon is
a sliver tonight" placed seventh. Both poems are slated to appear in
Comrades upcoming anthology, 2001.
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