I checked on her this morning,
with hidden happiness,
and a hospice ribbon.

Frank smiled at me – again,
always there… silent… patient –
a smoking volcano.

“It’s almost time Ester”
spilled from my lips,

…paying my promise to tell.

I shrunk aside, waiting,
while their hands embraced,
paper-thin and ashen-white.

He rose, like a mountain,
opening the green bag,
and pulling out the pictures.

Holding out each memory
for her to see, one by one,
fighting his shaky hands.

The dancehall and first house,
marriage, babies, Christmas –
every promise fulfilled.

We’re done here, my love,
wait for me in the park
and she went.