Giving Away
The noise of his approach first beckons meto look, assuming I shall see a chair.
But there, without a stick, and stubbornly,
he’s inching on, a joy as broad and rare
as Heaven’s on his face; whilst subtly
beneath her veil one arm is tensed to bear
him up, up to the moment when quietly
she slips a father’s for a husband’s care.
And, since the time is ripe for letting go,
these tears – held back all five years since his stroke –
seem payment of a long due debt I owe:
though he, I’m sure, would be content to know
that, when he fell, inside me something broke,
and here I’ve gained his strength to let it show.
