Wednesday Poem

Love Song
Julie King

My father is dying, and my mother
has never been so in love. It’s not

over death she’s swooning;
it’s the sweetness that has softened

him. She lotions and socks his feet, shaves
his cheeks so he’s fresh for their evening

date in the dusk-quilted bed, the oxygen
tank murmuring in the background.

As she fine-tunes the tubes in his nostrils,
she smooths his wisps, sighs, “Oh, sweetheart.”