. . . you were still here
suffering with constant pain,
it was love that kept you going.
No one was ready
to say goodbye.
In the Spring of 2021
You arranged for me
to receive from you
a pink robe
on Valentine’s Day
—actually two.
I can’t
remember
what I gave
to you.
In the Spring of 2022
in the strange
timing
we inherited
from
a
virus,
we will bury your ashes
with prayer
and
song.
Tell me just one thing.