My Arm

I used to have an arm,
It was really rather strong
And it used to pick the kettle up quite surely.
But now it has the CRiPS,
It's much weaker than it was,
Unpredictable and painful and poorly.

I used to have a foot
That would carry me so far,
Cross the fields, over hills and parks gaily.
But now it has the CRiPS,
It's so painful, thin and weak,
And it stumbles now and trips me up most daily.

I used to have a knee,
That bent and stretched and jumped,
It was always so reliable and strong.
But now it has the CRiPS,
It looks thin but fat, it's sore,
And now it sometimes gets the job quite wrong.

I used to have a hand,
I could turn to anything,
Often played piano, cello and the flute.
But now it has the CRiPS,
It's so cold and weak and aches,
It can't do much for long, it wants me to be mute.

I used to have some toes,
They were prettier than most,
And I painted them and liked to show them off.
But now they have the CRiPS
They're all burnt and red and grim,
And only now of interest to a prof.

I used to have a life,
It was fast and fun and mad,
And I shared it all with many folk around me.
But now I have the CRiPS,
And my life seems to have shrunk,
Not by choice, but just because this thing has changed me.

I am not the girl I was,
Not the woman or the mum,
Just this living husk of burn and ache and pain.
For I've lost sight of the sun,
In amongst all these dark clouds,
And I need a stout umbrella for this rain.

Brambledog, c.2013.