Those hints and quirks that now with hindsight seem
Non sequiturs, slight glitches, small things wrong,
Strange angles of approach a touch off-beam.
My sight too lured by memories, too layered,
How could I see with these long-loving eyes
Which take for granted every gift we shared?
My mind declines the grief my heart denies.
We swing and switch between opposing poles:
My stumbling child I lift and clothe and tend,
My elegant hostess to guests we house.
In all our sudden shifts between two roles
My word the word on which you must depend;
Your minder now and still your lovesick spouse.
3
Your body bends to every drag and schlep
To shunt its load along a precipice,
Aware how gravity undoes you step by step.
And all your life you lived in dread of this.
Your father’s sister Mary Nancy cracked;
A giddy gene had set her mind askew,
A flawed accessory before the fact…
But now it’s Parkinson’s that nobbles you.
We shared our youth and prime; this too we’ll share.
‘Just hold my hand,’ you cry. ‘Don’t let me fall!’
Then: ‘Why are you there standing in my space?’
The selfsame time both there and yet not there?
To disengage yet hear your deepest call –
But how to hold and still stand back a pace?
4
Although dependence moans against the grain,
Night after night I hoist you half-asleep
Until my lower back baulks at the strain,
The heave and groan of you my rag-doll heap.
A Gatch bed now where buttons choose the height
So I can floor you lightly on your feet
Or tilt you from discomfort in the night –
A boon for both that is so bittersweet.
Here on my nurse’s bunk I rest alone
With you cribbed in and me caged out –
All this to aid you in your sleep and ease;
Re-singled man I summon on my own
Our bedded years of turn and turn about,
Your kneecaps in the hollows of my knees.
Related Reviews
‘In this poignant and hopeful sequence of poems, Micheal O’Siadhail explores how a devoted husband and wife respond and adjust when she is greatly altered by Parkinson’s disease, examining his states of mind and feeling, his daily adjustments her changing personality, and finally his sorrow and brokenness at her death. Yet at the spiritual heart of this sequence are the ways in which the poems courageously show how the couple’s deep-rooted love searches for ways to overcome her debilitating illness, their fear and dread, and their eventual loss. The vivid image of the title of these linked sonnets demonstrates that their love always connects these lovers by an incorruptible, unbreakable “crimson thread”. As the poet memorably writes: “I hush you in my arms to tell you how / This suffering still sounds our depths of love.”’ – Joseph Heininger