not a quitter

she was a great girl

kept me satisfied nights warm & rested

days sliding by sitting in her kitchen

talking of the world tides habits rides

& then

chopping logs for the winter stove

twisted my back couldn’t lift a roll

staggered back inside

she applied ointments potions unguents salves

laid me flat on the floor massaged my spine

left me needing so much more

& then

I slept fitfully until morning came

made it to the crapper

praying for rain holding on to anything

escape the pain

came the time for paper needing be done

& I couldn’t twist reach area one

& for a minute I wondered pondered on

could I ask? would she?

I made it to do what I had to do

flushed walked unsteady out of there

laughing some

you ok? what’s the matter? she asked

all concerned & I said back soft

just be very grateful

I am not a quitter hon’

the poets life

these things you gotta do

in the poets life

here on my knees

cleaning the crapper

the dust & stains

difficult memories

holding her hair as she threw up

things she could not hold onto

her sitting there crying again

unable to explain the why

& him the writer of the truth

cuddling the porcelain party night

uncaring about the line

forming in the hallway

the moments of relief

letting go of pasts mistakes

hoping for good resolutions

the poets life

here on my knees

praying again cleaning the crapper

fetching water pushing the broom

like a good poet need be