LAST HOURS CAN BE FOREVER
In the few hours
we had remaining,
I knew you wanted me
to take up your cross,
but I also knew
I would never
bear its weight,
having witnessed
the impact of its destruction on you
over our many years together,
those years when your pain
wounded me too, the scars
still barely formed, as though unsure
if they should heal at all.
In the end you died
and your cross remained,
like a memory that cannot
be cast aside, a weight,
I suppose, of a different kind.
Edward Lee's poetry, short stories, non-fiction and photography have been published in magazines in Ireland, England and America, including The Stinging Fly, Skylight 47, Acumen, The Blue Nib and Poetry Wales.