This Is Love
A friend once said, Love
just means you’ll be there.
I remember hospital rooms,
machines humming softly with life.
Doctors with thin percentages
of hope and heavy brows.
The late nights alone in a parked car
screaming into the void.
How we empty ourselves of grief
and climb Love’s dark staircase
just to hold hands,
just in case.
—Amanda Johnston
First appeared in Poetry Magazine. Used by permission of the poet. Photo by Dan Meyers, Creative Commons, via Unsplash.
"How we empty ourselves of grief
and climb Love’s dark staircase
Just to hold hands"
The holding of hands got me. It's such a common sight but so dear when in jeapordy.