Anniversary

We’ve lived in these bodies so long.
Don’t think about their diminished condition,
the damage gravity has done,
don’t  worry if our legs feel papery.
I like the way they intertwine
on the old blue sheets.
Forget that your beard’s now flecked with white,
that what once seemed merely sun lines
are crow’s feet etched in deep symmetry on my face.
Ignore the muscle cramps that interrupt our play.

Your eyes are the dark eyes
That saw me that first night.
Your right hand is the same one
that brushed against me. You leaned over to
open the car door for me,
spilling me out onto the sidewalk.

I slid out, muttered thanks, goodnight—
Turned at the front steps, perplexed,
went home when I should have turned back to you.

 

Originally published  on March 10, 2017 in  the online ‘zine, Work to A Calm

4 thoughts on “Anniversary

  1. I loved this warm and kind and fondness-filled poem, Lynne. It’s nice to know that, for some of us, growing old doesn’t mean losing perspective and familiarity doesn’t have to breed contempt. Here’s to you and to your beloved.

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  2. Lynne, This post was so true and wonderful. My beloved husband passed away in December and I miss him so very much. I only pray that one day I can hold him again.

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    1. Oh, Maria, I am so sorry to hear this. I wrote this poem for my husband–but to know it resonates with you means a lot. Sending warm wishes and condolences. and condolences.

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