In the few hours

we had remaining,

I knew you wanted me

to take up your cross,

but I also knew

I would never

bear its weight,

having witnessed

the impact of its destruction on you

over our many years together,

those years when your pain

wounded me too, the scars

still barely formed, as though unsure

if they should heal at all.

In the end you died

and your cross remained,

like a memory that cannot

be cast aside, a weight,

I suppose, of a different kind.

Edward Lee's poetry, short stories, non-fiction and photography have been published in magazines in Ireland, England and America, including The Stinging Fly, Skylight 47, Acumen, The Blue Nib and Poetry Wales.