For Tim and Tammy
Timothy’s father passed away.
Left him an old farmhouse 
and some acres to tend.
A woman in his memory 
helped with the tobacco.
Beautiful, with two babies.
Back then he ran 
away from stepping
into just-add-daddy shoes.
Tim found her a few years ago.
Ten grandchildren,
a long life told over the phone. 
True and gentle, an old, older love.
Trips to the cabin by the lake.
Campfires, marshmallows, time.
Tim is broken now.
Beat down 
like his father’s house.
They were repairing that
old farm, he was grandpa
living it.
He got to say ” I am
her husband”
at the hospital,
hold her hand 
for her last day 
of breathing.