I’ve broken my wrist and have to wear
a blue and white sling to hoist my right arm
higher than my heart. Which reminds me
of the blue-and-white Mothercare sling
I wore to hold the baby more
than forty years ago. I learned to work
left-handed, the baby and the sling
balanced on my right hip, my arm
curved about them like a hunter’s bow,
a crescent moon, a question-mark.
How talented I was back then!
Now I can’t wash my hands or hair,
put on stockings or apply mascara.
Cradling my own swaddled arm
which hangs mute and useless,
redundant as a club.
