Gnarled hands that cannot hold a glass
A skeletal frame confining you to bed
Ravaged by arthritis in
Your blue-striped, broadcloth pajamas
A tiny girl sits
Beside your bedstead prison her
Fingers curl around the bars of her crib
She babbles and swings her chubby legs
You regal her with stories
Of your time on the railroad
A conversation of sorts in
Two different languages
Translated by love
You laugh and
The baby giggles

Years go by and the
Baby’s a young girl
Keeping Arthur company when
Grandma goes to the supermarket
She’s promised a quarter but
She would have done it for free
Spelling is her nemesis and he
Helps with the homework
He offers a clever way
To spell Chrysanthemum
She earns an A

One thought on “Arthur by Linda A McKenney

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