He, loved filled,
would be caught weeping.
The first time,
graduation.
The second,
over broken relations,
feeling her pain, worried
she’d be okay.
Later,
from loneliness,
from frustrated, infirmity,
he would weep, “Please come!”
I’d wrap my arms around him,
sit beside him,
share those moments of fragility,
so thankful for love,
so thankful for him.
She’s never shown a tear.
Year after year,
muttering,
grumbling,
no personal responsibility,
dark heart.
Her rages
call for no sympathy.
At least,
from me.
