Tuesday I wake up with my left foot so small
I can no longer see it. Only when the cat tries to catch
my big toe do I know it’s still there. Wednesday
my knee is gone. My left arm fades by breakfast.
Friday it’s my hip, half a woman
doing the chicken dance at the French Embassy party.
Sunday my heart only is left. Keep it in your hand
as you scramble the eggs. Read it the news.
Hold it to the light and see it’s beating.
by Teresa Plana