In her last notes, when her hand began
\nto tremble, my mother tried to teach it<\/p>\n
the penmanship she was known for,
\nhow to make the slanted stems<\/p>\n
of the p’s and d’s, the descending
\nroundness of the capital m’s, the long<\/p>\n
loops of the f’s crossed at the center,
\nsending it back again and again<\/p>\n
until each message was the same:
\na record of her insistence that the hand<\/p>\n
return her to the way she was before,
\nand of all the ways the hand had disobeyed.\n
Hear Wes McNair read this poem.<\/p> <\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n