I love the way he starts and ends each day with 
	a kiss on my forehead.

I love the way he makes me oatmeal, just the way 
	I like it, with milk and a little honey.

I love the way he treats the janitor as though both
	their paychecks were equal.

I love the way he continues working even though 
	he still has sick days he could take.

I love the way he thanks me everyday with his eyes
	as I tape a sheet of paper onto the
	wall next to his bed to remind him
	what day of the week it is.

I love the way he looks when he falls asleep, so
	calm and at peace.

I love the way his hand is still so warm in mine,
	not yet cold as it will become 
	an hour from now.

I love the way others talk about him and fill in the 
	growing number of gaps in my 
	chiseled memory.

I love these memories that are not my own and I 
	cherish them as though they were,
	keeping them in a tip jar that I,
	at night, stash under my pillow and 
	let seep into my dreams.

back to my poetry