‘I want to spend the rest of my life with you’
I would say, never giving away how coy I was
Those words chosen carefully each time,
always avoiding the one that really matters,
for to invoke it would surely give away
my secret plans
Now I sit alone, and those words which were
chosen with such calculation ring dead and hollow
I worry that I was too late after all
and now this jewel will sit forever,
as it melts a hole in bottom of my dresser drawer
the lights were
still on the music
still loud when you
ran crying into the
the sand ate up
your steps and
when you met the
sea it was so cold,
and so uninviting
what did you expect?
maybe a caring and
cloud whose womb
you would climb inside
of and wish it all away
yet the air outside
the wedding tent was cold
as was the water that
lept at your toes
as you stood backwards
the dj to
or, don’t you have the balls?
or, walk back to the tent
let the sand eat your steps
wipe the salt water off your face
and toast the happy couple.
“Honey, did you get the eggs like I asked you?”
“Honey, we really need to go shopping.”
“Honey, did you pick up the milk for tomorrow?”
“Honey, I can’t make dinner from ketchup.”
“Honey, you realize we can’t afford to eat out again?”
You know you’re newly wed
When breakfast is goldfish crackers and cream soda
With the promise of, ‘I’ll go shopping before lunch.’
With much love
(and many farts to share under the covers)
There can be no ‘I love you, but…”
Only, “But…I love you.”
Unless, of course, I love your butt.
I turn to you for
and you offer me
There is a place between where I was—
Geographically straddling home (and where home will be)
Intellectually flailing at what I know (petrified of what I don’t)
Emotionally committed this cause (a compelling enigma)
Romantically ready, so ready (so far from prepared—but ready)
Spiritually tender and ready to be transformed (more than I can imagine)
And where I am going—
Like a flag buffeting in the wind
Declaring an identity which has been attached to another foundation
For as long as memory recalls
A movement begins.
This house grows wheels, bears the weather—no apologies, howling.
Purpose served, shingles tear up, await replacement.
A new roof—trappings intact.
The old precedes, but now concedes.
One is silver, the other gold.
The summer storms usurps a leaf from his stagnant perch
And for a moment—though turbulent and unknowing—
Deposits him to transformation of life yet untold.
Greatest mystery with only the promise of a seed intact.
Change and I have never seemed to get along,
But if it’s like they say and, “opposites attract”—
Then I suppose I’m right where I should be.
was it the night
we sat on steps avoiding
others so we could speak secrets and dreams until 4am?
or was it the time
we walked in the park in
autumn sat on a bench beneath
the night acutely aware of our hands and the distance between them?
or was it that Thursday
the first time my lips fell into yours
in the background the treading percussion of Explosions in the Sky?
or was it that Sunday
at circle of hope when I calculated the exact pressure
of your hand on mine to equal the love of God and kept it to myself?
was it in old city
beneath the din of eighties hip hop
when I told my friends I would marry you someday?
was it in spanish
stumbling mispronunciations and incorrect accents
in an attempt better know those who mean the world to you?
was it in harvard yard
dressed as wizards wandering and wondering
where we could find the best butter beer in cambridge?
or was it the summer
we spent unemployed reading and mastering
the NY times crossword puzzle then emerged, merged adjusting our eyes to autumn?
or was it that night
in central PA when you showed me how
to cup both hands to carefully catch these drifting constellations?
I cannot say exactly
between my hands and yours
between sunset and sunrise
between the top and bottom step
between the mountains and the atlantic
between jersey and philly
between te amo and mahal kita
between the upbeat and downbeat
between the first and last page of this notebook
between one thousand and one days ago and today
I fell in love with you.
and even to partially properly articulate this
it will take my entire life
an infinite number of pages
and perfectly placed kisses
(which is part of my plan)
but something tells me
nothing will match
the simple eloquence
of your hand
fifty summers from tonight.