Jeanne Walker
RECOVERING THE COMMONPLACE
No wonder your juice turned sour.
No wonder the long night rolled up like a mat.
No wonder light returned so furtively
we guessed it mislaid something.
When we woke up
you were too hot to say
mama.
I lifted you fi'om your crib.
But you were too sick to pee.
When we drove you to the doctor,
rain was falling. No wonder. This is
the way things happen.
In the waiting room, I prayed
the ordinary blue chairs
be places no one's child
could die, had ever died.
Then far away in your eye a light
stirred.
Cup, table,
and everything
recalled itself You uncurled and C1ied
"Cracker!" "Apple Juice!"
Slowly, like sunrise practicing again
to make another morning, you sat up.
The doctor let you listen
to your heart. He held
his tiny light up to your finger.
It glowed truthful, red. By this time
you had given back your fever
like a toy you'd played with long enough.
You lay on the table baring your face,
For Bob Pf'Tkel
