one flower in the bouquet


one flower in the bouquet

I know I am only one
of the flowers in the bouquet.
one sweet smell
one petaled velvety rose
one lacy baby’s breath.

but oh the solidarity of those women
loved as one by their man

not sequentially,
not separately
not because of looks
not dedicated housekeeping
not playthings
but an integral part of the bouquet
of patient service to his every need.

I understand
because I had a bouquet myself:
from my papa and down to all the men who served my needs

who nurse me now
in my elder years

with their musty smells
and whitish hairs
and arthritic memories…
they’re a boost!

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