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Poem

The Caregiver

You come every day. 
I pay you to do that. 
Or if I do not, 
someone does, 
that takes care of 
that kind of thing now. 

I hated it at first. 
You, intruding on me, and my life. 
The way you showed up, on time, 
took care of needs...
and then cleaned... 
my whole home.
Even though it is better than
somewhere else, (a place)
they want to put me, 
it is not all mine (my home) anymore. 
You are here. 
 
I watch you. 
I hate that you do, 
everything that you do.
It makes lying to myself harder. 
It makes knowing that I can not... 
do something even clearer 
to my blinding eyes. 
As they dim, 
I remember what it was to be, 
young, 
happy, 
and whole. 

"I picked your favorite roses, 
the ones with pink and white."
You call from the kitchen. 
Chatty Kathy that you are... 
"The coffee is ready. 
 Also... I brought a pie, 
the flavor fresh peach. 
That is the one...
that you treasure, 
beyond all measure."

I pause a moment in reflection, 
and pure silence. 
You have found me out. 
You know my secrets. 
My weaknesses. 
Perhaps... 
You, 
being here, 
is not the worst thing, 
but a new thing, 
that I might... 
get used to
after all.

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