Mother-In-Law

I carry the hundred-pound weight of my wife's mother
from one spot to another spot, again and again,
my old arms out of alignment, strained and upset.

We are trying to teach her to walk again.
After two months, we removed her from the nursing home,
an institution of contradiction from values to practicality--
they told us visitors were always welcome,
but did not explain they would not be tolerated.
Once we visited her twice in one day,
and the anger of the CNAs was a catamaran
slipping so far, the only thing that saved us from capsizing
was the breath of God pushing us back to safety.

The nursing home buried her in a wheelchair.

We carried her home, placed our lives in an array
of storm and heavy stone, tried to repair her disrepair.
Today she said she had to use the bathroom
and too soon pulled down her diaper and her pants,
let loose a cascade of healthy brown feces
across the floor, the toilet seat--nothing went into the toilet.
We held her up, cleaned her first, even an elbow,
scrubbed the toilet seat, the toilet, the floor
and then I lifted her, my legs a stutter of tongue twisters,
my old arms off balance, but gaining hope,
and placed her in the comfort of an ancient recliner.