Poetry by Amanda Adrienne Smith

Gerry Dincher CC



PRAYER FOR MY SICK DAUGHTER

There are people in the wind like doctors. 
That’s what I hope. They are carried here 

by the color of their hollow eyes. I tell 
myself I will talk to the trees more, ask them 

to help my daughter breathe. Why is it so 
hard to breathe. Eight months of coughing 

is not normal for a 5-year-old. She tells me
she doesn’t want to die the way the sun dies.

Every night, I find myself outside on the 
balcony begging the trees. Calling the trees.

Connect your fucking roots. Communicate
with each other. Fill her lungs. Promise me.

A sunlight transfer body to body. We become 
the trees hovering in human form. A dance 

for my 5-year-old and me. Coughing and 
sleeping. Sleeping and coughing. The 

machine prescribed: a little dog shaped
nebulizer we can name, pretend to be her 

friend strapped like a mask keeping medicine 
in. Making it all easier the way hands connect 

bodies in the woods. Make me believe it's 
only allergies getting better. Watch her ribs.

I skip a rock in the pond just to watch it ripple.
I say it’s a good thing. The wind just blows.




​Amanda Adrienne Smith is a poet and actress living in Los Angeles, CA. Her poetry has been featured in Ghost City Review, Right Hand Pointing, and One Sentence Poems. You can find her on social media @amandaadrienne.