The Bite

In the springtime, a zombie showed up,
breaking down our door and biting me.

Friends and neighbors asked questions,
not daring to come near,

leaving flowers, candles, baked goods
on our crooked stoop.

I tried to explain his presence
but I had lost my words.

Best to try to live with him
without getting gobbled up completely.

He watched TV with me, preferring
the couch to my cushioned chair.

When I needed help up the stairs,
he held my lame hand,

and lay down next to me on my bed,
resisting the urge to bite again.

And when I would dream, he would push back
each strand of hair that had fallen in my face.