The Checkout Line of Anywhere
So how old is your baby?
The cashiers ask as they ring through a few dozen
jars of baby food
I admit they're all understanding when I tell them
he's seven and has textural issues with food
They get very apologetic, say "I'm sorry"
when I say he has autism
He's not dying, hooked up to a ventilator
or in a wheelchair
He is not broken, there is no need to be sorry
I do worry about the stares, what people will say
when he whoops, or does not speak when spoken to
by those who do not know him
Worries that are not his, but yours
The autism baggage you carry for both of you
A trip you so desperately want to unpack the bags of
but a journey you understand will never end
After my card is swiped, I am grateful
she did not mention the diapers
2 comments:
You are really doing a wonderful job portraying what it is to be a parent of a child with autism, and these poems show what you and your family's life is like from many different and thought provoking angles. Great work.
Thank you. Still eleven days left.
Post a Comment