but I don’t care
about the opinions
of anyone who hasn’t
spent the day guiding
hands through sweater sleeves,
taking the bathroom door off
its hinges so the wheelchair
fits, whisking away
the food-stained napkin
to put a clean one across
his lap, for transferring
wheelchair to bed, tucking
blankets around his face
for a post-breakfast nap
and sitting down with a cup
of coffee for just a minute
before he calls—
smoothing lotions and pomades
to dry skin and essential oils
and psalms applied for calm
finding the right song,
now the coffee’s cold,
answering the phone in case
it’s the doctor, and
bringing a glass of water
and an apple that has to be peeled
and sliced, and a cup of tea
with the right amount of honey
all before noon, adding a dose
of dignity to an undignified
situation, and not
letting the private grief and regrets
and memories and fears bubble up
because there isn’t time for everyone
to have emotions when
there’s still laundry, and dishes,

and dinner to prepare,

which is just enough

and all we need

when there’s only the holy now