First find the edges.
The stop-gap Angel blew in with a fluster,
bearing bananas and bleach,
telephone numbers, and such
kindness she made me cry.
Separate out the corners.
It is important to have enough
to hold onto. The table
for instance, and we used a chair
as a walking frame.
For two days no one came,
not even the stop-gap Angel.
Assemble the borders.
The step up to the bathroom: so high,
so hard to ascend,
and all his limbs trembling,
losing coherence.
It is easy to mistake one piece for another.
He had crawled a hundred yards
through the flooded garden
on hands and knees
to ring me.
There is often a piece missing.
On the 3rd day the doctor came.
By the evening
we had a commode, a zimmer frame,
a washing Angel
and a shopping Angel.
Many pieces are identical.
I was fighting exhaustion and despair,
lurching from task to task.
I wanted to go home.
My bones appeared where there had been curves.
When I sat down I couldn't get up again.
Gradually build inwards from the edges.
The millennium approached.
By the 5th day
we were beginning to cope.
Emptying the commode
wasn't as bad as I feared.
Match colour to colour, detail to detail.
He insisted on standing
to greet the new century:
'I'm going to be on my feet'.
I held his arm tightly.
The night sky flared.
With the addition of one piece, suddenly whole areas join up.
It became clear
that every piece we'd placed
had led to this.
That this was going to be the picture
from now on.
