Friday, September 28, 2007

~Not Leaving by Cynthia~

Forty nine years ago I gave my hand to you in marriage. Now you give your hand to me in sickness.

You reach for me from the bed placed in the living room. You can no longer make it upstairs to our marriage bed so I sleep on a love seat next to you. I'm not leaving.

Our hands may be veiny, dry and a bit swollen with arthritis but they have built a good life. Our hands still fit together.

As you sleep, your pain must ease because you smile often. Every once in awhile you mutter words about our life.

When you start to awaken, your hand reaches out. I'll always be there to hold it.

***Lovely***

3 comments:

Rion said...

Her skn s saturated wth a rchness my skn cannot magne. Layered wth hstory. A mystery of age. The story she told me gave me dreams that sent tendls nto my mornng.

She said there was a curse on her. Such thngs she makes exst.

Dragon said...

"Take my hand," I told him, but he didn't move. "Take my hand," I repeated.

"I can't reach," he whined, a child-voice from a man-body. "Help me."

"Help yourself," I said.

Cynthia said...

Forty nine years ago I gave my hand to you in marriage. Now you give your hand to me in sickness.

You reach for me from the bed placed in the living room. You can no longer make it upstairs to our marriage bed so I sleep on a love seat next to you. I'm not leaving.

Our hands may be veiny, dry and a bit swollen with arthritis but they have built a good life. Our hands still fit together.

As you sleep, your pain must ease because you smile often. Every once in awhile you mutter words about our life.

When you start to awaken, your hand reaches out. I'll always be there to hold it.