outlined

The presence of your naked body, inches away from me as you showered, was always an opportunity to view you as art.

Your curvaceous silhouette projected on the shower curtain, aided by the morning sun illuminating you from the other side. You always step into the water, face up, and run your hands through your hair. With your arms up, your breasts lift to the stream, droplets descending, clinging to your nipples. I listen for the shampoo bottle opening, pouring and closing, the ritual of your hair washing. When you lean forward to soap your legs, the slight paunch of your belly exaggerates, a badge of honor for carrying The Land & The Sea.

The water turns off, you step from the tub, your smooth, buttocks red and shiny from the hot water. I continue brushing my teeth, or some similar mundane routine, now made more brilliant by these glimpses of your wet beauty.

just a thought

when you smile, i cry
you are an answer
you are the answer
i am last, last
whose eyes mean that much to me?

Like Poppies, Heavy with Seed

The Land's birth was a new planet for us; it was an exact duplicate of the planet we had known, but slightly scarier, dirtier.

Your eyes held tears that hung on the edge of your lids, never falling, never retreating. When you looked upon her, worry sang from your face and i wondered how both of us would go forward with this weight upon us.

Soon enough, it passed, it's heaviness always present within you, its weight from the love in your face whenever you looked upon her.

consuming

i love the way you eat with your fingers: pinching the food between your thumb and forefinger, and placing it in your mouth so the fingers go in with the food.

It's just one of those unique things that is yours, and yours alone.

1999

Found those lyrics we wondered about:

Speaking of love
You ask how much you should give
Expect and receive
Take what you could, give what you must coz
Whatever's for us, for us
Whatever's for us, for us

Speaking of pride
You ask but why, what for
And what it should be
Do what you will, say what you must coz
Whatever's for us, for us

Speaking of life
You ask how, how right you are
To be feared or loved
Heed not a lie, fear not to trust coz
Whatever's for us, for us
Whatever's for us, for us

storyland, part 2

The girls recalled our camping trip, how much fun it was, and Storyland

Whenever we visited a fair, museum, amusement park, I enjoyed watching you taking it in, interested or not. You always walked with such slow grace, your eyes moving from one sight to another, your lips half smiling then fully explode as the girls did or said something amusing, your hair always brilliant, no matter what color.

It is a theme I have discussed too many times here: watching you when you didn't know I was. Seeing you in this way completed me in happiness, in love, in awe, I now wonder why it couldn't sustain me another thirty years.

But then, you didn't watch me in the same way.

Cleaning out old folders, sketches of poems i had hoped to finish one day:

10/4/97

For amelia


your hair flows onto my chest followed by your hand
gently they settle haphazardly like leaves seeking winter
once on the ground, they are art.

we are art, one sculpture of flesh, bone and blood.

i do not know if you can hear me,
there beneath my breast, a pounding so
solemn it keeps time with the poetry in my head.
that is for you, that is you being pushed through
my veins, racing for the core, ready to inhabit


i recall butterflies settling on your arms like rain
your smile spread so vibrantly, the net captured me
and marriage was my only course.

Can i finish this now? Do i have the right?

Our lovely, rainy honeymoon. While part of me regretted not being able to explore the island more, most of me enjoyed being hidden away with you in the old beach house, watching rain run down the round window in the bedroom, overlooking the balcony.


Now, there are ghosts at ever turn, and the rain isn't at all magical. It's a time machine returning me to the most painful of memories.

Any love I had for Martha's Vineyard dissipated with this trip. Where I once browsed shops, wondering if you would like this



or hate this




In the end, my mind catches up with the present, and it reminds me none too gently that it no longer matters what you like or don't like.

rabid thy

Today shouldn't mean anything, but it does; it is forever etched in my memory as the day you came into the world and I was the lucky one you chose to marry... first? Over the years, Too many times to count, I imagined what you must have been like as a baby, a little girl. I watch the Land & Sea and wonder if any of their movements are yours from years ago.

Today was worse to bear than our wedding anniversary. And it bothers me with such depth why you mean so much to me, and why I wasn't the same for you.

It will leave some day, hopefully soon, but I learned months ago that it cannot be forced....it must leave at its own pace.

I cannot recall my favorite birthday of yours... I fear that it is because I failed to make them special. I must have done something good?


.....and I have lost some kindness.

autogeography

i knew many of your life stories, and never tired of hearing them over and over again.

where i have touched three bodies since yours, i do not know the stories of those bodies, can't tell anything of their experiences.

Laying with them, i think of your stories, the smallest details, the sound of your voice as i anticipate its rising and falling as the story unfolds.

monsters in residence

Friday night I drove down the Escape Road to meet friends at a bar in Galilee, the second time in as many weeks. At the end, I saw the small turret like structure that we took the girls to after you met me at the BI ferry. The same trip where I carelessly lost my wedding ring; the guilt would haunt me for months... years.

The girls, or perhaps L, was into a phase where every game involved a monster, so she said that she wanted to play "Monster under the stairs" as she and C climbed to the second "floor." We complied, hid under the stairs and growled on cue as they descended.

I smiled weakly as I thought about the monster that was under the stairs for the next two years of our marriage.

full circle, full moon

I am not sure this fits in here. Perhaps writing it out will tell me.

I am both enamored with and embarrassed by my propensity to record my past: boxes of letters, photos, dried flowers, ticket stubs, the like, the most trivial items collected and fastidiously stored. I like having these items for the photographs and films they create in my head.

I am embarrassed that they may be Frankenstein monsters I hope will come to life.

Tonight I came across a box from Esmeralda, my first love, the first woman who gave me water. It was the beginning of my life, five years of amazing conversation, friendship, nakedness and growth. Unfortunately, I realized that I did not want to marry her, and broke her heart. In the box, deep with her letters, was one she had written as we deteriorated in the Fall of 1990. She had returned to me a story I had written her while substitute teaching, and in the story I used a hall Pass to ask her on a date. Her words settled in me with such sincerity, something I am sure I missed eighteen and a half years ago when first given to me. In her words, I heard my words to ExA: the longing to not let go, wondering what happened, and a declaration that love will never die.

I realized that I still love Esmeralda, and hoped ExA will have the same revelation some day.

A verse from a cover of a Will Oldham song, by Koz.... new partner:

Well, I would not have moved if I knew you were here
Its some special action with motives unclear
Now you'll haunt me, you'll haunt me
Till I've paid for what I've done
It's a payment which precludes the having of fun

The line about "i would not have moved if I knew you were here" is so beautiful, prods the smile tear machine every time.

The memories that are good, the ones that remind me why I loved you, often involve you laying on me, against me. I set about studying your skin like it was to be decoded.

Last night, as C graduated pre-school, I caught a glimpse of your bare left arm and a freckle- I remembered it, but oddly didn't.

If you didn't move, I wouldn't have known you were there.

10 years

Today wasn't as hard as i thought it would be; I am equally disappointed as relieved.

I was going to get flowers and leave them on the step of the church, but the task seemed fruitless- why should I be the only one who cares that it was our wedding anniversary?

The day passed quickly, and it was more important to me to get wine for the fire night than it was to honor any memory of us.

What happens to the vows, the feeling of seeing you and only you among 200 family and friends? What happens to the memories of each daughter emerging from you like crocuses?

Are they buried only in me?

I am so glad that you are not around to answer these questions.

offerings

Driving in Wakefield: a father bicycling with his toddler seating in an attached bike seat behind him.

I remember father's Day 2003, as I slept in, you and L*** brought my present up stairs; I heard the two of you shuffling quietly, carrying a child's bike seat- she was wearing a yellow helmet covered with colorful fruit.

I realize now more than ever before that gifts were your way of expressing love. I am sorry that I did not get it it as profoundly before.

a murder of one

I feared this day, when all of the memories slow to a halt. I hope there will be more, but I am done holding my breath.

snowfalling

I don't know how winter wandered into my mind three days ago, since the weather has been struggling between freezing and pre-spring, but the memory of night snow storms came back so crystalline it was friendly.

Living so close to a main road brought the steady music of traffic sounds. When it snowed at night, I would awaken throughout and hear the plows riding by, their shovels scraping the tarmac. Sometimes I would glance out the window, inches from my head, to see how deep it had fallen. Then I'd turn back, and look at you sleeping quietly, hardly aware of the plows. I was glad to be indoors, so close to you, so close to L and C.

epiphany

Thursday it all became clear; funny how such a simple thing can clear the mind.

Your e-mail was aggressive, although you'd never admit to it. My response, I thought, was not, but you saw it another way. It was purely my intention to suggest if you can't stay in NK, I could maybe keep the girls there.

And your words came from left field: that you "will scratch my eyes out if I try and take the girls" was exactly what I needed. In that misinterpretation I saw your true nature.

What did I ever see in you? Potential. Potential that was never going to be realized.

a dinner table

Cold nights always fogged the kitchen windows. As I drove into the driveway, I could make out your shape moving about, talking with the girls.

Sometimes I paused before walking in, wanting the whole effect of the scene; I used to mock my parents for such traditional American images.

The table would be set, I had a place as did you, L & C. They were never as forthcoming with their day as were you.... nor was I. Did I not speak because of that distance between us? Or did I not want to disrupt that which was in front of me by inserting myself?

I thought about my kitchen table seat the other day, now serving another. Envy brews when I consider that he gets to share dinner with all of you, and see your nights wind down, from energy to silence. Thinking about my kitchen table seat leads to what used to be my bed... and i envy him more for being able to see you sleep, how your face closes softly and your hair rains.

sleepiness

And then there were afternoons when after all was done we would lay on the bed and fall in and out of sleep close together, the sounds of the afternoon closing down into evening coming through the open bedroom windows. Then awaken for dinner or a movie.

These faded after the girls were born... were they antidotes?