Last year my wife went to an Al-Anon meeting.
One boho, twenty-something waif asked, 
“You’re a helper too aren’t you?”

Infuriated, Bea issued divorce
papers immediately. Ten days 
before our girl’s birthday.

Children are adaptable.
Reportedly resilient & capable
of cleaning up crime scenes

between fair to firmly consenting adults. 
But if the question were between 
helping you, or leaving you to bleed, 

they’d rather not 
face that their special person is weak— 
their motto being, no one left behind.  

My baby, Treena, found me once,
boiled as an owl, black
hair soaked with coagulate gore.

I wore Better Homes & Gardens 
across my swollen, rattling throat.
The pages sticking with phlegm.

Treena mused
whether Dark Father needed stitches,
ointment, or immediate intubation. Since 

Her Mommy was out for the day, she knew 
she’d have to find needle, thread, & 
appropriate herbal applications alone.

Smiling, she whispered, nappy time is a happy time. 
She decided to make her breakfast by herself.
Pancakes with maple syrup topped with strawberries

& cream.  It was easy!  She made
the batter with peanut butter, ripe bananas,
plus selected berries from the garden.  

She washed them, 
picked them clean to plop a dollop of Redi-Whip
upon them. A dream.