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.
Writer at Elizabeth W. Marshall
An introverted extrovert, Elizabeth is a curious noticer who lives by the sea in a small Southern shrimping village. She makes her home in a house built in 1904, where she lives with her husband of 26 years. Because of her love for all things French and as a hat tip to her gratitude, she named her home Mersea. She is momma to three growing-up children.
Visit her at her writing home, Elizabeth W. Marshall, where she writes poetry and prose. Follow her on Instagram: @graceappears.
Visit her at her writing home, Elizabeth W. Marshall, where she writes poetry and prose. Follow her on Instagram: @graceappears.
Latest posts by Elizabeth Marshall (see all)
- The Delicate Task - February 21, 2015
“dabs of epoxy”. Oh, yes. We do that. Lovely, Elizabeth!
Mending broken shards / Looks like love to me. That’s beautiful and it stays with you. That’s what it’s all about right? The willingness to mend and be mended.
So beautiful, Elizabeth. His hands, ‘a gentle blend of weary.’ What a gift YOU have for weaving words.
So, so lovely. Thank you, Elizabeth.