Bowel Care

Awake at 5:50 before the alarm

       turn it off to avoid its intrusive screech 

       survey the progress of the headache 

       first noticed at 3:30 a.m. 

       still pounding.

walk slowly in the dark past his door 

       shuffle into the kitchen to claim my 

       early morning, put water on to boil for tea. 

haven’t had coffee for four weeks

       an effort to rid myself of headaches & eliminate 

       two to six daily Excedrin. 

I hear my name & don’t respond 

       not yet. This is my time to write 

forgive myself for selfishness & justify solitude 

only the low lights are on over the fireplace 

my recent painting hanging between them 

I contemplate its completeness—

dark violets and purple shades,  subtle yellows. 

Does it need more light?

 I wash my face, brush my teeth & enter his room 

open the blinds, even if it is still dark 

light can ooze in at its own pace

gather supplies; suppository, gloves, chucks, 

& open the window needing fresh air. 

I pull the draw sheet, underneath to turn his torso 

reach into places 

never imagined 

reach for what 

I can’t find 

pull the past out, fold my latex glove around 

& discard it into a plastic container.

amazed at his surrender & patience & calm voice 

asking over & over, day after day  

can you get the sports page? 

do we have any muffins? 

will you get my architecture books, please? 

berate myself for getting angry

even now

light a scented candle on his dresser.