to heal is a circle

I remember the eucalyptus entering my lungs, 

the heat rising on my chest 

as you placed a washcloth, and whispered songs into my ribs.

You never doubted that I was sick.

Sometimes I faked it

Just to see you in the sunlight,

Get a glimpse of your hands, grandma’s opal ring 

Sliding around your lotioned fingers.

I remember an oatmeal bath

The flecks of oats floating 

In that milky tub, paint chipped,

My bones and itchy skin

Calmed most by the love in your eyes as I entered.

I remember you reading to me

I remember my nightlight

I remember the rustle of the page as you turned it

I remember you holding me with your smile

I remember you

You, my medicine. 

And as I learned to massage my own wounds,

and find comfort in my own voice,

I ground new herbs and songs into our family’s mortar.

Fire flickering by the bath

Lavender and coconut oil 

Slivers of ginger tucked under my tongue

To cleanse and make space for new words.

Last week you called me to say you were in the hospital

I began choking on tears

Thinking 

Of you

Unshielded

Vulnerable

Consumed by the realization that no medicine exists to protect you 

A swirl of desperation. 

But I understood that now 

it was my turn to comfort you

To breathe through and hide the tremble in my voice 

So I reached into our family’s healing cookbook

And read you Winnie the Pooh,

Eyes steady on the little green light on my screen.

You chuckled under your mask

As I held back tears 

As I changed my voice for each character

Just like you always did

When I was sick or sad.

To heal is a circle.