January 8, 2014

A Christmas Poem

I sat,
Naked on the shower chair,
For the first time, as the hot water rained on my back,
And the soap cleansed the residue of
Intensive Care.
I heard the sound of my ring before I saw it,
Rolling on the tile floor
After slipping from my finger
Muscles wasted from the trauma
Of illness.
My heart stopped as I bent over and picked it up,
Held it close for a breath,
And slipped it back on my finger,
Clenching my fist to keep it from
Falling again.
That gold ring is my most
Precious material possession,
Circling my heart and protecting
My soul.
A symbol of our love,
And a promise;
That I will always be home for Christmas.
-Michaelphoto1.JPG


Posted at January 8, 2014 12:06 PM

Comments

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