I am trusting there is a trace
in the world
of where and how we have moved
through the years together.
It would begin with the confidence of your step,
my tentative shuffle admiring the way
your hips tucked in neatly:
all the power carried out front.
I cannot see our silken trail
or tarmacked road.
The vestige of our shared steps
I carry in my body so
when I lift the spoon to your mouth
it powers my arm upward and
I do not see your frailty.
Pen Reid, Poet of the Month February 2016