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Sheena Koops Sheena Koops
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poem for a worn and torn bible

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Looking for a title that adds to the poem or as Janette Lyons says, "works hard for the poem." I'd called it "Seasons" but that's not really adding anything.

I remember walking this valley as green blooms, morning to morning
as heat pounds and the shade is cool like wading in the lake
as leaves crunch in the gravel at my feet
as snow blows, turning the hills white

I remember walking and breathing air
soft, heavy, fragrant, harsh
breathing deeper and harder
as minutes turn to hours
breathing deep and simple
as hours turn to days

Eight weeks ago I stopped walking
"you can get crutches at the pharmacy" she'd said
and that was that
no more walking
with a broken ankle

Two weeks ago I thought, only two more weeks
but this morning at the doctor's
"two more weeks" she says
and that is that
no more walking

Just swinging along the side-walk on my crutches
crawling up stairs on my hands and knees
hobbling in the kitchen with a chair
hopping from my bed to dresser

And I'm not sure where I'm going with this poem
"what is the lesson I should learn?" I ask
Janet, my sister-in-law, who sees me
from her office window at the All Nations Healing Hospital
and runs to open the door for me

"More and more I'm learning that life is about seasons,"
she says after we've talked about my Moira and Victoria's drama
at the Cathedral Village Arts Festival
and little Lanelle not closing the pen
letting loose the sheep and llamas on the lawn

We stand in the sunshine outside the hospital
Janet on two feet, me on my crutches
talking about newborn lambs
and the kindness of nurses and doctors

While people of all nations are breathing by us
each in his or her own season
even as the spring earth is ploughed for flower beds
beside the emergency doors of the hospital

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