A Victim of Convenience

There were magnolias here once and
I remember feeling unworthy of
tucking something so pure behind an ear
that had allowed so much pain inside
There was Tolstoy and tea and a world forgotten
under the branches of the tree
my grandfather planted in sight of
my grandmother’s bedroom window
for the love of his life, the woman he said
held herself with dignity;
I held you with what strength I had left


They told me I was dying once and
we grew old together in an afternoon