Knock, Knock, Knocking on the Floor

Once there was a small woman with no legs on all fours,
continuously knock, knock, knocking on the floor.
Below the spot on the floor where she sat was a room
where in a bed, her daughters dreams did bloom.

From her sound sleep, the daughter did abhor the
unstopping loud knock, knock, knocking on the floor.
Out of bed and up the stairs the daughter quickly came,
to find the small legless woman looking slightly insane.

A large t-shirt and messy hair was all the woman wore
as she sat there still knock, knock, knocking on the floor.
She looked up. “I can spell BRAIN” she said aloud, then.
“I can spell B-R-A-I-N,” she continued again and again.

The daughter glanced around and saw an open drawer
while the woman kept knock, knock, knocking on the floor.
All across the counter were strewn about papers, pills,
and lying in the kitchen were juice and coke bottle spills.

“I can see flowers on the couch” the woman suddenly roared,
all the while still knock, knock, knocking on the floor.
“Your blood sugar is low,” the daughter proclaimed.
“NO, I’m just losing my mind,” the woman explained.

The daughter fetched maple syrup from the refrigerator door.
The woman couldn’t stop knock, knock, knocking on the floor.
“Just a little sip,” said the daughter giving the woman some.
But she just kept shaking her head, saying she wanted none.

Still, tipping the woman’s head back, she gave her some more,
relieved there was no more knock, knock, knocking on the floor.
The woman started to return to the mother she usually was,
and in that very moment she looked about with a pause.

“I thought I was dead,” and she grabbed her daughter fiercely for
coming up when she was knock, knock, knocking on the floor.
“You saved me,” the mother said through a hug and some tears
all the while the daughter was trying to calmly hide her fears.

No one from the outside would know of the constant war,
or of the knock, knock, knocks that fall upon the floor.
The mother and daughter’s story is lengthy and extends
far beyond when this moment of fear and love end.

I’m afraid there isn’t time to describe all that they have in store,
but always listen for the knock, knock, knocking on the floor.

————————————————————————————————-

This ballad is a true story of my mother waking me in the night when she had a low blood sugar. She almost died. She has had over 14 eye surgeries, two below-the-knee leg amputations, and two organ transplants. She is now considered a post-diabetic after having her second transplant: a pancreas/kidney. She is my hero.

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3 Responses to Knock, Knock, Knocking on the Floor

  1. Jeanne says:

    She is my hero, too. So engaging.

    Like

  2. You sound pretty heroic caring for her too. Very well written. In the words of Saturday’s pot luck consider me professionally jealous!

    Like

  3. Anaida says:

    This is my favourite blog EVER

    Like

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