The Delicate Task

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I watched his hands, a gentle blend of weary

Each line, earned, every callous worn like a medal of honor

The request, brave and earnest

His response breathed through his fingertips, whispers waft and billow

Through the labor of his hands

His yes, a gift of patient, steady love

I look away, the chore asks for silence

Honor him

Love him, in the quiet with my eyes

Set upon the task

Devoted to repairing

Shattered pieces, some as small as dust

Mending broken shards

Looks like love to me, each meeting of the sliver to the whole

Reconciling what was once

We now wait

We know from time

And time again

Heal the broken with small dabs

Of epoxy, yes

I look back and kiss his chin

And grin at him

And weep

Love was Patient

Yet again.

Elizabeth Marshall
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