The Week of Your Diagnosis

Here you are jumping on the bed,
Nearly dusk and it’s summer
You suddenly find the remaining words
To that nursery rhyme we’ve practiced endlessly:
You fell off, and bumped your head.
I laugh, doubting all suspicions that something could be wrong with this child,
My child.

To the tune of your jumbled consonants and vowels, I desperately try to soften.
The monkeys of my mind
begin jumping furiously now.
And I pause here hopefully,
Thinking that if they must pour out
then let it be on this bed,
No matter what the doctor said.

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