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| Liesel and me at Gull Lake 1607.26 I am in the far background... |
Hi Mom, So, I am trying to be a better husband. I am always trying to be a better husband, so this is not a new thing. But what is new is trying to clear my work schedule and spend more time with Liesel on her days off, especially in the summer when I have less work.
Because of our grand day yesterday, I thought it was time to share a love poem that I have written for Liesel.
I did edit it slightly before sharing on today's blog.
The other night when Liesel texted me while I was at Ultimate that she made food and it would be waiting for me when I get home, I said that "I love being married" and "marrying Liesel was the smartest thing (best thing) I ever did."
It's still true.
"What would it be to kiss you?"
- poem for my wife, my love, Liesel, on the occasion
of our falling in love 1/20/09
Would your kiss peck at the grain spilled
in my mouth, or stretch like a weed
that chokes a struggling flower?
Would we tumble and tussle
loosed at 10,000 feet like skydivers,
swimming in air, full of so much joy
that we try to out scream the wind deafening all sound around us?
We sit on the cold car seats, rain laces your face.
I lean closer — color blind —
seeing only the RKO set of 1913:
you're my Garbo
from your eyes deep and profound,
like the eternal and awe inspiring
blackness into which I hurtle,
a satellite enroute to explore the universe.
Would this kiss spark a fire made for the beach roast,
a fruit fire fly, made by rubbing two peaches together;
Or would we fill and stretch to our limits, taut,
like a mahogany sail for a cloth boat perched in the branching sky,
waiting for the winds to reverse and sail into what lies beyond heaven.
What would it be to kiss you?
It would be a moment stretched like taffy,
it would be a walnut full of honeyed rainwater,
it would be a steel-bright steeple of moonlight jury-rigging the sky,
a wooden sail burning with fruit trees to scorch the frosty evening,
and a larder full of winnowed time,
made from the souls of silent pictures
and the wheat of your unstained skin.
(your supple neck would bend and the nape would still in my palm.)
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Reflect and connect.
Have someone give you a kiss, and tell you that I love you.
I miss you so very much, Mom.
Talk to you tomorrow, Mom.
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- Days ago = ## days ago
- Bloggery committed by chris tower - date - time
NOTE on time: When I post late, I had been posting at 7:10 a.m. because Google is on Pacific Time, and so this is really 10:10 EDT. However, it still shows up on the blog in Pacific time. So, I am going to start posting at 10:10 a.m. Pacific time, intending this to be 10:10 Eastern time. I know this only matters to me, and to you, Mom. But I am not going back and changing all the 7:10 a.m. times. But I will run this note for a while. Mom, you know that I am posting at 10:10 a.m. often because this is the time of your death.
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