She Ƙnows

We went on the
same bus,
a shy little thing,
seated halfway down
looking out the window.

She knows me,
knows what I'm like,
knows what I like.
She sees things I don't,
she anticipates things,
knowing me, she may suggest
callipers or not, depending.

Comfortable now
with each other,
she lets herself in,
I know her footsteps;
on time, it
must be her.
She's always happy, smiling.
We know each other so well,
a great friendship, but
the need of her help.

We've known each other
forty years, and
worked together eight.
She, the first care worker to see me
in the destruction of Stroke,
three years back.
The only carer to visited
me in hospital,
in Rehab, many times.
She's followed my steps
through this journey.
She sees and understands,
she wants to know, to learn.

She wrote the notes
for my care.
She's always there,
has seen it all,
been with me
every step
along the path.

She knows and understands,
not just the Stroke, but
the disability.
She's so familiar
day to day,
her smile, her laughter.

She sees it all,
hears it all,
cops it all,
understands still
despite.
She knows where
things are kept,
where things go.

She knows my routines,
our working together.
We laugh, drinking
coffee in the park
after therapy.
I sleep, she drives.

r.m.

Reviews

[Arundass TP]

A beautiful poem. Vivid images created clearly. Good work 👍

[Richard M]

Thank you so much Arundass for reading. Really glad you liked it.
Thank you for stopping by. Nice to meet you
Take care
Richard