Mending
- Feb 27, 2025
- 1 min read
In those last few years
my father needed me
like stepping stones
need solid ground,
the sunset a horizon,
to mark the fading day.
And so we found a new
kind of love to replace
a love never quite there—
no arms open wide
no curious conversations,
he just 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
our 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.
