Standing By

1.
I moved the piano from the basement,
had it repaired and tuned. She bought
a lovely stool with a cast base. I fixed the seat

with a deerskin cover. She never practiced though, told me,
Gramma always looked at me so closely after my bath. 
Grampa did something to me when I was learning to play.

I paid someone to take the piano, then stood by
while she struggled to remember.

2.
I broke out the concrete where a clogged downspout
plunged into the foundation, fitted it with a clean-out,
formed a cement cover to protect it from the weather.

One night she locked me out.  I never understood,
not that time or the others.  I woke in the garage
chilled in the dark, my head buzzing

like yellow jackets in the crumbling roof.
It warmed me to think of her, our life together.
I fetched the clean-out cover and etched our names

in its face with a rusted hanger.  When she saw it,
she said: It looks like a headstone.
Soon after she had a stroke, then lingered.

I knew her wishes and consented,
stood by to see they were met.
I still feel that I murdered. 

I still remember when last we spoke,
we lay on the couch kissing.