He sketched in charcoal
the arch of a shoulder
the movement of a hand
the woman’s head
turned and tilted slightly
toward the man
When I was young, my mother told me that I would find true happiness only in marriage.
it wasn’t death that did them part
(that came later), but the lifeguard
at the public pool who parted them
From our window, grosbeaks
and buntings tangle into flight. The hours count
earlier now, because of the way they are lit.
now that I don’t have sex every night or carry two fat boys,
one on each hip, up small mountains,
I have to go to exercise class
Twenty years together and yet
You were new to me again.
And suddenly I wonder exactly how many times this had to happen
for both of us to be exactly here, exactly now.
What risks of the heart are worth taking? This is a story of love prevailing against all odds.