Immobile

I watch you all day.

You are lop-sided and aching for a wafer and wine,
communion the hammock beneath your hip,
plundered by time and your own body.

I watch you all day.

You are withered and industrious
as you loop your toes under your damaged leg,
immobile and lacking infrastructure
and compromised immunity.

The medical plan forecasts pain
like a chameleon
who can't predict her beauty.

Touch the generous breast of any mother,
and warm milk will flow to heal you,
to strengthen you,
to find the way
to your strength,

that industrious path
to so much love.