Beside the flower bed, still unplanted,
we sit on the porch with coffee and toast
and watch the field where the swallows
swoop and dive in their own ritual of breakfast.
Hummingbirds chase each other across the grass,
small bodies like darts that pin us
to this moment. Would I, if I could, pin us
to this radiant now when the whole world
is greening and the morning sun paints
gold on every surface? Or is its value
partly based in how quickly it passes?
So while I can, I sink into this measure
of bliss, cup still warm in my hand,
and breathe in the sweet, sharp scent of grass.
Someday soon, there will be flowers.
Posts Tagged ‘marriage’
The Radiant Now
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged birds, breakfast, marriage, present, spring, time on May 15, 2024| 6 Comments »
In Hand
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged hands, love, marriage on May 9, 2024| 12 Comments »
Each night before dinner
I slide my hand, palm up,
across the table toward yours,
and always, you rest your hand on mine,
the way a petal might land on a leaf,
the way a leaf might land on grass.
So gentle your hand
that is equally at home in my hand
as it is in the engine of an old Toyota truck
or tightening a valve on the irrigation pump,
wielding a chainsaw or dripping hot wax
onto a ski before scraping it off.
So many ways I don’t know your hands—
how they fidgeted when you were a child,
how they fumbled when you first tied a shoe,
what they clutched when you felt alone.
But now, they are nearly as familiar to me
as my own hands—how your hands
flutter up to press to your lips,
how they cup each other to create
a small cave you breathe into when thinking,
how they pull through my hair
when I lay my head in your lap,
how they help me to know my own shape,
how one hand of yours will rest
against one hand of mine
to tether us even in sleep.
The Partners
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged dance, long marriage, love, marriage, partnership on February 4, 2024| 10 Comments »
After thirty years, she knows
he will speak with his mouth full.
He knows her stomach will gurgle
in the silence before they sleep.
He will set the table.
She will water the plants.
He will wash the windows.
She will dust the piano.
After thirty years, she still thrills
when he sits close on the couch
and rests his head on her shoulder,
then sighs aloud and closes his eyes.
She loves when the moment lasts.
In the mornings, he will look at the clouds
and tell her the direction of the wind,
what it means about the storm.
She will walk up to him with open arms
and hold him there, in the middle
of the kitchen. There will be no music.
It may look as if they are standing still,
but it’s part of a long and intricate dance,
a dance they are still learning,
a dance no one else can teach them.
See how they step back, how they spin,
how they step in toward each other again.
Wordlessly
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged grief, holding, marriage, touch on April 27, 2023| 12 Comments »
With such gentleness,
he stood behind me
and held me as I wept,
held me the way a pond holds a lotus,
the way a scarf holds perfume,
the way a man who has lost his child
holds the mother of the child,
his hands so light on my hands
as our fingers laced into a tender weave,
held me the way the pericardium holds the heart,
the way the eye holds a tear
then lets it slip away.
The Long Marriage
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged darkness, intimacy, loss, marriage, touch on December 6, 2022| 14 Comments »
Perhaps I know you best in the dark—
that nightly shrine
where my belly meets your spine,
where the bend of my knees
meets the bend of your knees,
where my warmth meets your warmth,
the night a vase
in which we place
the stems of our bodies,
in which I know myself
through touch.
And nothing must be said
and nothing must be done
except to meet the long familiar flesh,
this honoring of nakedness.
Perhaps I know you best in the dark—
these lightless hours when
we sit in the midst of brokenness
and my hand finds your hand,
and my silence finds your silence,
my loss finds your loss,
and together, somehow,
we find peace.
And nothing can be said.
And nothing can be done
to change the past.
We meet in the these darkened hours,
with nothing but our willingness
to meet these darkened hours,
these hours we would have pushed away,
these hours that bring us closer to each other.
Contact Joy
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged joy, marriage, skiing, work on April 1, 2022| 10 Comments »
He cleans the base of the skis
with a fine, steel brush to remove
the old wax, his body swaying
above the ski, tip to tail, tip to tail,
so the micro hairs on the base
will lay down in the direction of travel
on snow. A fine copper brush
cleans it more. His movements
are quick, precise, a dance
that now comes naturally.
The only music is the sound
of the brushes, the sound
of his breath. There is no
laughter, no joking,
not even a smile, but
sometimes on winter nights
I walk toward the light
in the garage and watch
his body intent on its work,
and I feel the quiet joy
he finds in preparation
and the work of foundation,
and his joy seeps into me,
soft as the darkness
that holds the garage,
deep as the space
that holds us all.
One at the Confluence
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged communion, marriage, poem, poetry, rivers, union on November 16, 2018| 2 Comments »
for Amy and Devin
two rivers
become one water—
sound of ten thousands hands clapping
Dear Abby Offers Advice to the Newly Weds on Halloween
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged marriage, poem, poetry, pumpkin on October 31, 2017| Leave a Comment »
every pumpkin knows
you need just enough air
for the candle to burn,
just enough shelter
to keep the flame alive
One Silver Split Key Ring
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged finders keepers, found poem, innocence, loving the world, marriage, poem, poetry on February 8, 2016| 3 Comments »
a found poem
mom, she says,
I found this ring I’m wearing
on the ground—
do you think it means
the world and I are married?
Just Before Our Twentieth Anniversary
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged love, marriage, poem, poetry on October 16, 2015| 4 Comments »
He knows how to read the coming weather
from the direction of the wind.
He knows from the shape of the clouds
when the storm will start.
All I knew, when I met him,
was that I wanted our love to last forever.
I did not understand what forever meant.
Nor did I know much about love,
though I thought I did.
I am not so better at reading the heart,
but I do know, watching him watch the sky,
that twenty some years is not enough
and that love is what we are here to share
and that after seeing all those mare’s tails
this morning, there is a storm a-coming,
and that after some time
the wind will come from the north
and there will be calm after that.