Anointed

You lie in your bed and we hover
on our feet around you,
your daughters, your angels.

It’s September. I bring you
a dry, red Maple leaf
from the bricked-up sidewalks of Cambridge.

I bring you
lavender oil in a tiny jar,
a sample. It’s enough.

Three days later you’ll be dead,
but today
you see the Maple leaf

and smile. I smooth the oil
to your forehead, your soft hands,
your swollen feet.