A Poem by Lisa McCabe

Poem Written in Support of the Restoration of Lambchop the Puppet

Lambchop, now that Shari’s dead,
stripped of agency and freedom,
you lie — a rag — inanimate
in a tv show museum;

not that you had ever lived
unbeholden to the hand
that slipped each night beneath your fleece —
incarnate and in command.

Smarty, stubborn, self-possessed,
no barnyard lamb could match your wit;
you meant so much more to me
than puppet — surrogate

who spoke of what I could not say,
who breathed — so I could hold my breath —
Whose voice thrown so you might speak?
What hand will raise you from this death?

For in the static air between
words lightly cast and words received —
a vision of a snow white lamb
in which a girl had once believed.

∗ Shari Lewis, Lambchop’s creator and puppeteer

Lisa McCabe reads and writes poetry in Lahave, Nova Scotia, Canada. She has published poems, reviews, and essays in a variety of print and online journals.