Tag: marriage
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I Had To Stop Writing My Poem
I had to stop writing my poem to do more important things.The washing machine buzzed—whining again for someoneto shift the wet clothesto the dryer.An hour later, midwaythrough the third stanzaof the love poem to my wife,the dryer complained— there’s a load now dry, waiting to be folded.I dug the mix out: half hers, half mine—mostly…
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The Long Drive Home (A Draft: Seeking your opinion)
When the car burst onto the empty highway, the bridge stretched long over the river,and the faint glow of streetlightsbathed the dashboard in a soft, cold light,not bright, but a subtle washprofoundly changing my thoughts. Suddenly I wanted to feel clarity,to dive deep into my center,marriage and divorce throwaway wordsfor the deep sensation of home,knowing…
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True Sisters Know How to Stitch a Real Wedding Dress
My mother got married in a hand stitched dressthat each of her four sisters contributed a piece of their souls into the embroidered lace:a skein of swans in perfect v formation flew up her left sleeve, doves fluttered down her right, peacock trains fanned cardioid eyesof the most luminous white across her torso and bluebirds…
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Marriage
After his deep illness was over he laid his body on hers—the length of his body on hers—all the sleepings, awakenings,fights, teacup and coffee mornings,their talks about everything and nothing,the plummets, the joyous-awkward silences—and with a tear, she beared his weight— until it was gone.
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a ladybug, cicadas, bumblebees,a butterfly and moths: portrait of a marriage in stasis.
(Poem should be read horizontally to show original formatting)The ladybug climbed the porcelain salt column,on my breakfast table, heading to a nowhere heaven with confidence, its beauty rounding and rounding the rim- delivering the message of herself in its tiny being. I admired this bug that did not crave the darkness,or need not crawl headfirst…
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Getting Married in the Shadow of Iztaccihuatl
She dreamed that shooting stars would stream the palaba roofson the night of her honeymoon,that Iztaccihuatl would spark embers approving of her love,glistening her wedding dress in ashes and a dozen golden sols. The next day she would drape the vestido on the line, it’s wetness letting the entire Pueblo know thatthere was spotting, consummation,…