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Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

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.


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