“That breeze is magical” you said as we stood in your kitchen, the door
open to allow the fall-like air to swirl into our hair and push against our skin.
“It reminds me of the beach,” you said. I smiled, closed my eyes, removed
my sandals, pretending to curl my toes through grains of sand on your wood floor.
“I want to write a poem about it,” knowing I wouldn’t be able to capture
the moment in its beauty: you standing there, looking radiant in plain clothes, no makeup.
You read Margaret Atwood to me, we talked of Donald Hall’s devotion to his wife,
our own loves, lost and found and somewhere in between.
You played me songs from bands that you liked, and we closed our eyes
remembering a life so far away now —
“I loved that apartment on Fairmount,” I said and you nodded.
The stick of wood in the window, the walk past the parklet, post office,
the old Webster’s, along the mall towards the library.
Or down Fraser, past the duck pond, where I used to meditate before heading to my writing class,
where I used to walk with him afterwards, enjoying a conversation full of wit and wonder.
Days as vivid and as alive as yesterday but as disoriented and blurry as a lost dream.
Over dishes, I contemplated the mystery woman,
you listened, offered your own insights and
hopeful thoughts, but ultimately we knew the
truth about that – and you reminded me I was better off.
“I know. I know.” I repeated. That’s all I get told these days.
I just want to believe it.
You comforted me on a day that I’d been dreading,
kept me busy with food and love.
If you would have asked me four months ago
what I thought I might be doing on this day
it would not have been this.
But in this moment there is no place I’d rather be than with you
standing in your kitchen, loving each other completely
in a way no lover or husband could ever feel.
It’s you who I want always, and though I may stray from time to time
to discover parts about me I didn’t know, or to fall in love with others
I will always come back to your warm embrace, your full lip kisses,
this kitchen, our life together.
/ / /
September 10, 2014