by: Michael Ryan
At four o’clock it’s dark.
Today, looking out through dusk
at three gray women in stretch slacks
chatting in front of the post office,
their steps left and right and back
like some quick folk dance of kindness,
I remembered the winter we spent
crying in each other’s laps.
What could you be thinking at this moment?
How lovely and strange the gangly spines
of trees against a thickening sky
as you drive from the library
humming off-key? Or are you smiling
at an idea met in a book
the way you smiled with your whole body
the first night we talked?
I was so sure my love of you was perfect,
and the light today
reminded me of the winter you drove home
each day in the dark at four o’clock
and would come into my study to kiss me
despite mistake after mistake after mistake.
A poem for a gray winter day. I know my last couple posts have been on the dark side, so I decided to share a poem that has some light in it.
Yesterday was a day for thankfulness and gratitude. I am grateful to have leftover turkey and mashed potatoes today. Some cranberry sauce over stuffing. Maybe some day-old pecan pie. And for people who love me, despite all the mistakes I make. Every day.
Saint Marty is a walking billboard for screwing up.
