To have and to hold

For D

Though we have not yet reached the two-year mark,
and barely know what we’re doing,

though we have many long years ahead of us
than behind us, fewer memories made

and dreams so big we laugh at ourselves,
though we are one day close to our first fight—

what would it be? How quiet and how distant?
who will surrender and kiss the fresh wound?—

you hold my aching body in the bathtub
and wipe me down when a virus racks

my insides and turns my body into
a strange and frail thing we do not recognize.

How you stayed by the bed and watched
over me, how you raised a cup of tea

to my lips and oiled my burning back,
your palms a tender and steady prayer.

How you bundled me up in layers and tucked me in,
moving around the room quietly while I slept,

turning off the lights, drawing the curtains shut,
wanting, with everything in you, to stretch your arms

against the brightness of the sun and keep away
the slightest disturbance that might stir me awake,

and send the old pain, like seeds, sprouting up
through every muscle of the one you love.