Raspy cough,
white bathrobe,
fingers
reaching for your ivory
coffee mug,
red lipstick
on the rim,
fingers,
slender and strong
like vice grips,
nails stripped of polish,
fingers,
so many years before
pressing a cold washcloth
against my fevered forehead.
fingers,
stretching for chocolate,
sneaking smokes.
fingers,
clasping crochet needles,
like conductors’ batons,
stitching in smooth rhythm.
fingers,
bouncing basketballs,
gracefully releasing
black bowling balls,
fingers,
long and loving,
sliding down columns,
checking my math.
fingers,
wiping my tears
when the numbers were wrong.
fingers,
stiffened from stroke,
still pointing
from the passenger seat.
fingers,
cold
against my palm.
fingers
on our last morning.
