New Poem
After Making Love, I Leave to Write a Poem
Already I am making myself lighter,
willing myself to our quiet, unlit office
where fallen hydrangea pedals litter my desk
and the rain leaks through a hole in the roof.
Here, I am most proud of my life:
the blessings of words, the way they shape
this house and the hours that move inside of it.
He knows I go to answer some grim wisdom
his body has pressed into me, perhaps
the new music made by our old bodies
while the night slides into silence.
I feel the bliss of blue, heavy-headed stalks
leaning closer and closer to earth. In this hour,
he is the vase in the room holding my flowers.
Already I am making myself lighter,
willing myself to our quiet, unlit office
where fallen hydrangea pedals litter my desk
and the rain leaks through a hole in the roof.
Here, I am most proud of my life:
the blessings of words, the way they shape
this house and the hours that move inside of it.
He knows I go to answer some grim wisdom
his body has pressed into me, perhaps
the new music made by our old bodies
while the night slides into silence.
I feel the bliss of blue, heavy-headed stalks
leaning closer and closer to earth. In this hour,
he is the vase in the room holding my flowers.
Comments
i love these lines:
"the blessings of words, the way they shape this house and the hours that move inside of it"
this house and the hours that move inside of it."
How do you do it? Sigh...
The ending kills with joy. Keep it up, don't stop.
I feel the bliss of blue, heavy-headed stalks
leaning closer and closer to earth. In this hour,
he is the vase in the room holding my flowers.
your beloved husband is a wonderful sanctuary for your soul and poetry. that's what i get from your writing.