I watch my mother

___________________Struggle to put on a sweater

I call the right side of her body

___________________“Tin-Man without oil”

She is always half-smiling

___________________One eye three-quarters shut

I say she keeps it closed to see into the future

___________________“Mama, do you need help?”

Her twisted tongue cannot utter

___________________“No”

“Mama, can I stay out past curfew?”

___________________“One at a time”

“Can I have twenty dollars?”

___________________“One at a time”

That one syllable word is misplaced

___________________Somewhere deep within her mind

“NO!”
___________________I will help her put on her sweater

But she is hot to the touch

___________________A boiling pot of water

Whose cover will not let steam escape

___________________Her words

A prisoner, who was not proven guilty

___________________Her mind

A prison cell brimming with letters from a past self

___________________(though that may be ironic, Mama can’t write anymore)

Her thoughts

___________________Rumblings from within

A landslide of words

___________________Stuck in the mud that is her tongue

Where, “one at a time” means everything

– Kathleen Hempfling

Author’s Note: This piece is inspired by people with aphasia.