Disordered Glosa for Richard

Hope makes itself every day
springs up from the tiniest places
No one gives it to us
we just notice it.
—Naomi Shihab Nye, Window

weighed down by knee pain and groceries
we climb the twenty-four stairs crash on the sofa
complain about the dry heat of summer
when a downpour echoes in the breezeway
we just notice it

making you borscht for the first time
I steam the beets remove the skins
my red fingers draw circles on your cheeks
they lift in a smile we smooch love
springs up from the tiniest places

you retreat unreachable a chasm
I flash on my mother’s despair
the harder I try the more silent you become
later we will talk but it takes two
no one gives it to us

you call you sold her diamond ring
I ask if you got the price you wanted
you say the freedom is priceless
many years to let go of what you carried
hope makes itself every day