When the Architecture Shifts

He came to visit

and I bent less.

That's the only way to say it.

The architecture of us shifted

without permission.

He asked me to reach.

Something from a high shelf,

something he would have

without thinking.

And I saw it then—

the moment I became

the one who could.

The back of his neck

when he looked up.

So thin.

Almost translucent.

I could see the pulse

at the base of his skull,

the small blue thread

that keeps him running.

I reached for the thing

and he waited.

He actually waited

for me to get it.

I've been taller than him

for years, I think.

But today I felt the height

in my bones.

Today the difference

was impossible to pretend away.

I handed him what he needed.

He took it without saying thank you.

We both knew

what had just changed.