The mantle piece is gathering dust,
as are other ledges,too
The strings are dusty on the harp
the soundboard’s dusty, true.
The floors could use a washing.
Windows want a spotless view,
But what I lack in house keeping
I make up in love for you.
.
.
(Someone is vacuuming and washing floors before we leave for Christmas dinner, causing stress to poodles. Hint: it isn’t me).
‘Marry in haste
repent in leisure,’
they say;
we repent
in long embraces,
loving looks,
and thankfulness.
We repent,
wrapped leisurely
together in sleep.
We repent
in steadfastness,
temperance,
and patience.
When she reached
and found
That was all
there was.
When she stretched
and discovered
That was all
she was
When she trusted
and loved
That was all
you were
I only have to say
Here’s a problem,
can you solve it?
And next time I turn around
You have illuminated
my world.
.
Yesterday
this was everything.
Novelty exploded
and now we’re only
dust.
.
.
.
(Oh, those poor children. When you’re 14, everything is hyperbolic)
Oh, she’s ready
all right.
And you’ll be
regretting
that tone of voice
before the evening’s
over.
She was wrapped up in herself
and he had a bad rap
But they were enraptured
and joys they unwrapped.
,
,
Some wordplay this afternoon, just for you!
I am sure
I told them
We are sure
Yes, we are young
We told them.
Yes, it’s been fast,
But the college is small
and we get to know people
quickly. We’ve seen each other
ten hours a day for months.
We didn’t tell them
about the ice cold walks,
holding mittened hands,
the tears,
the dreams.
We held those to ourselves.
Well, they said,
If you’re sure.
So we said I do
and I do, too
And we leapt off
a precipice
together.
.
.
.
This is the 30th anniversary of the day I met my dear man. By the summer we were married, and still are
falling.
There is security,
profoundly deep,
knowing that whatever
needs to be done
will be done,
without me having to ask.
.
There is gratitude,,
profoundly deep,
knowing that whatever
I need
will be met,
without argument.
.
There is peace,
profoundly deep,
knowing that whatever
happens, I can trust you,
to be there.
Fifty times a day
she invites you
to connect.
“Honey, look at this!”
she says, forwarding an email.
“How was work?”
she asks, leaving her desk.
“Do you have ideas for dinner?”
she ponders in the kitchen.
Every time you grunt,
ignore her,
snarl, or shrug,
you are erasing what matters
most to you.
Every time you smile,
consider, give some time,
answer courteously, and
squeeze her warmly,
you’re drawing a
portrait of your happiness.
.
.
This poem is based on this article about an interesting study on relationships!
Shawn L. Bird 