bloodied but unvanquished

she still radiates.

I know the struggle.

I nurse her wounds.

I am her partner.

There is nobility

in her rising

and fixing her vision

on the next horizon.

At times like these

she appears to me

exactly as she did

at our beginning:

valiant, heroic,

and beautiful.

The contour of her

smoke-smudged profile

and the jewelry of her tears

inspires me

as I gird my armature.

We embrace

silently taking any

hope and strength we can

from one another

and declare again

our allegiance

and commitment

to victory

under the maxim:

“I love you, baby.”

Facing forward

side by side

we march onward again

onto the battlefield

of our daughter’s

mental illness.