She pulls out the tray,
places tinfoil, a carton
of guacamole on top
& a bag of chips beside me.
I watch her place a large Hi-C
atop the bedside table.
“I got you fruit punch, too.”
kindness flooding every syllable.
She apologizes for not getting me
this yesterday. I say, “it’s fine, thank
you, sompingme.” gratitude rising
inside, heavy, happily, faithfully.
I don’t say, you make me want
to weep love in the best, purest way.
Instead, I sit unraveling tacos,
sorrowed joy swelling beneath my speech.