10.05.06
40 Years Married
I go about and read my books
and write my poems
and they congratulate me;
lighting candles, marking the occasion:
40 years married,
a very long time for a marriage
or a war;
I suppose there was a sense of direction,
in the beginning,
or maybe it was luck,
or an angel;
easy promises made
to love & honor;
easy because there was, I suppose,
nothing to lose
and the commitment was agreed to
without hesitation
or reflection;
And yet they marvel
while I don’t know what it is
I’ve done to merit the celebration;
I can offer no answer,
no advice
to those who want to know the secret,
who are sure there is a secret;
I go about and read my books
and write my poems
and say:
Once
I was young,
and now I’m 40 years married.
copyright 2006
09.29.06
Love Poem
I saw a pair of fat red lips
on the marble floor
and, though your lips
were never red like those,
or as voluptuous,
I thought of you.
It may have been that
you were already there
somewhere in the back of my mind
waiting to be thought about.
You, who used to call me
and make me think you needed me.
You, who let me in on all your little secrets,
ones you said you never told anyone else.
You, who weren’t quite lying.
You see I had never felt so preferred,
so elected by another to serve with such purpose,
and you were needy.
I don’t know who you talk to now
or, maybe, you’ve grown
to keep your own counsel…
the lips on the floor were as silent
as you are on the subject.
copyright 2006
