Diagnosis: Diminished Capacity
by Jane Holwerda



To never see her again
Is not the worst imagining--
But to wonder
In a next moment
If my name
Could tether her.
I whisper,
"It's me, Janie. It's Janie. It's me."
She, whose hands stroked my hair
'til I slept,
Me, a child--her child--
"Mama, it's me."





Illya's Honey Literary Journal

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