Posted at 4:04 PM
Introduction
by Angela Hébert

The dead circle my hair, flowers behind my head
smudges of ochre, white. The marigold at my
temple is a breath caught in glass, a window
of fingers in sightless wind. My father faded,
yet palpable in bloom. A hand curled, another hidden
in my coat. I turn to the flowers
breathe in and lose them

I always wanted to be drawn
thought someone else would conclude me.
Even science cannot explain why
my father and I were tall and thin
in a family of short, stocky frenchmen.
My father a tree among the smiling lumberjacks.
Brother André of Quebec sent a blessed
oil for his eyes. Every night his mother
anointed him, but still
small objects eluded his searching hands.

©Angela Hebert

Used with permission. From The Marfan Writers Anthology, which can be purchased from the NationalMarfanFoundation.