Self-Care

Another death, another love shed
into earth, my old body made nude
again, a hairy burn in the crowd
of unknowable family. My wife
and son are behind the rock mound
we all plunder to give to the body
its roughest blanket, still life. Days
later my beloved suggests a pedicure,
an act of self-care I’ve never had.
I don’t know the name of the woman
given the task of washing my feet
and painting each nail shades of sea,
delicate greens, but I know now how
easy it is for a man to walk on water.