Spreading myself here
upon my witness,
the one who sees
the seer.
Floating here in the reassurance
of cotton, worn smooth and cool,
my witness is infinitely patient.

Waiting to welcome
joy, suffering, frustration, laughter,
waiting for my surrender to
dreams and awakenings,
to weather arguments, a silent arbiter.
It holds me and listens to me
listening to the rain

carries my books
endures my humanity
in illness, in carnal bliss,

reminding me always
that space and comfort
are available
and necessary

Unselfishly open
it is an infinite loop of
offering

welcoming all of us,
all our tears and happiness
measured out one day at a time
my children’s fright, my husband’s sleepless twisting
absences and vacancy

it is an altar
paying its own attention
to the dramas, the repetition of every day,
a steady friend
faithful in its implicit
partnership.

-Ket Parker