I believe the truth needs no defense.
I believe that feelings might not be facts
but they matter all the same—the secret
wailing in the bathroom, the fearful gasp
when the news falls from the TV
into our laps, the relief when the plane lands
soft on the tarmac like the white pelican
setting its boat of feathers onto the lake.
I believe in your warm hands on my body,
the long braid of years together, the love
in the dog’s eyes, gold flash of the finch
in the feeder, steady push of dandelions up
through spring grass, and I believe in the love
that seems to keep our broken world aloft
on its sea of uncountable stars.
Copyright 2021 Lisa Zimmerman
Lisa Zimmerman is a professor of English and Creative Writing at the University of Northern Colorado. Her books include The Hours I keep (Main Street Rag, 2016).
Very beautiful, Lisa. I thank Diane for the privilege of reading your poem. I surely loved it.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Ahh and there is the pang of jealousy for the treasure of old age together and the joy that someone appreciates and knows what a treasure she has.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Well-said, Barbara!
LikeLiked by 2 people
Very fine dear Lisa! I believe all those things too.
LikeLiked by 2 people
me too!
LikeLiked by 1 person