Yesterday
we walked through
the furniture warehouse,
past rows of cast-off,
refugee surroundings,
and amused ourselves
with their garish,
outdated style.
These dusty pieces
reminded us of pasts
where we grew up
unaware of each other.
I tried
to make you laugh
like in the old days,
when you were
the most important audience
that I ever wanted to win over.
And now,
even though we fall asleep and
wake up next to each other everyday,
I still want to entertain you,
to make your day lighter,
to bring forth
your honeyed laughter,
which I have always
translated
as proof of
your love and approval,
which I still need
just like in the old days.
I started out to tell you how much I feel your words, but then I realized that they are mine as well. Oh, not that they came from something I wrote, but that they are something I was going to write. Today, Walt wrote a poem using the word, wonder-filled, which I thought I had coined a year or so ago, and I probably did, but, since the primary readers of poetry are other poets, what the hell, it's hard to remember where our words and phrases come from. At least that's true unless, like you, we see a little glimpse of your life, the one you are currently living,and the person you've been. It's the way of things that we'll likely never meet, but you let us know who you are so clearly, actually meeting is almost unnecessary.
ReplyDeleteVery heartfelt and moving piece... love 'honey laughter'!
ReplyDelete~laurie
I could easily see the scene...your words drew me in. Very thoughtful piece. I like it!!
ReplyDelete