In those last few years
he needed me,
like stepping stones
need solid ground,
the sunset a horizon,
to mark the fading day.
So we found
a new kind of love
to replace a love
never really there -
no arms open wide,
no curious conversations,
no belly laughs on the floor,
he didn’t know how.
His distant but loyal gaze,
a crow circling for danger.
Above the hospital bed our new love
hovered, its chosen graces,
accepted constraints.
Between sips of water
a shared refrain,
Thank you for helping me,
I'm lucky to have you.
In the end,
it was a good enough
love for me.
___________________
Originally published in The Orchards Poetry Journal, Summer 2023.