Monday, September 2, 2013

The Death of a Lover (For Seamus)


Your wife is bright.
We converse, Hello, my name is, I’m from, I work at…
Yet, my soul turns
to your wife, kissing on my neck, slowly moving her hand down my back,
and lower, and lower, and lower, unzipping my pants,
then
her thick thighs pressed against my thick thighs, Oh Lord, I stifle my prayer
so I don’t wake the kids, My God, My God, My God! I rejoice.

Us, armwrapped, pleading for eternity before the children wake. We fall asleep,
if only for a few hours.
And wake, armwrapped.

Her work starts early so I cook the eggs and ham steak and pack a lunch to go.
I include a note. “Je t’aime,” it says.

We argue and reconcile every four months. We argue out of love.

Then her, holding my hand as I pass,
my children and grandchildren in the
next room, and me…
My life is mere seconds compared to eternity, in time yet in being.
I cannot speak.
I tell her with me eyes.
“Je t’aime,” they say. They can’t say it enough.
My speaking eyes close and she cries in Latin.

Time for home.

She holds your hand as you exit.
We will remember thy love more than wine.