Worrysick by Jillian Law

My body is in Amsterdam, but my head is at home.

I try to write about canals and Anne Frank

And all I can think of are my dad’s shaky hands and my mom’s tired eyes.

I worry, and I can’t stop worrying.

Some days it is low

And instead I notice how quiet the streets are when I walk to class.

Nothing is awake yet, not really

Not before 10 a.m.

I wish my mind could just be here

I wish I could only notice how everyone buys fresh flowers here just because they can.

I do my best to catalogue the details of this place I am so fond of,

But sometimes I can only see the way my dad’s hands shake.

(Are they still shaking? I don’t know.)

I want to be in love with Amsterdam so bad,

But how can you be in love with a place when you’re entrenched in the pain of another?

In retrospect, I am sure I will say I loved Amsterdam

And I will not be lying.

But I will also be able to say that from home
Where I can go to church with my dad and listen to his voice no longer waver.