A Love Poem?!?

I had so much fun writing a poem last week that I tried it again.  It is National Poetry Month all month after all.

Before I get into it, I got some fantastic news this week.  I was asked to be interviewed for the “Author Speaks” series at Eric May’s ZomBicurious blog!!  More news on this to come.

And a writing update…my manuscript revision is poking along sort of in a breakthrough/breakdown rhythm.  Sadly, I’m currently feeling more on the breakdown beat, but, I remind myself, like the needlepoint wall-hanging in my former social work professor’s office:  “There’s Always Hope.”

As for this poem, I felt if I was going to express myself in poetry, which I do so rarely, I should do it on a subject that means a lot to me.  Our 9-year anniversary is coming up, and this one’s for you Honey-Bunny.

Nine

When We were younger, We, as in you and me, or Us,

You used to ask me to sing you a song,

Or tell you a bedtime story,

As we lay in bed,

Our bed,

Not a hand-me-down from an ex or a mattress and spring board bought on special delivery,

The bed we picked out together and were reminded of in monthly bills,

Like the slices of our wedding cake we ate each month on the day of our anniversary.

~

You made me wonder if men ever lose their innocence,

Was it a lie that we inevitably grow up?

Or does boyhood burrow like a pup in blankets,

Coaxed out at the sound of mischief,

Or the tone of a voice he likes.

~

So much of our life has been spent as boys,

Studying each others’ faces when the other one isn’t looking,

Sleep-ins, Mario Bros., late night cookies,

Repeated TV jingles that amuse and amuse us over and over again,

Alone, we are well-matched playmates,

Retreating from the complexities of life,

We invent a secret language,

Blushing when we lapse into our words in front of others,

Our words,

Which came to us as naturally as holding hands.

~

This is not to say we haven’t had our resentments,

Our cold silences,

As boys are apt to have from time to time,

Photo albums record thinning hair and tiny grooves on necks and foreheads,

How could it be when we have grown so young together?

With games and songs and bedtime stories,

And now this poem for you.

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