The Delicate Task


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

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.
Elizabeth Marshall

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