a poem for my Love on our 24th anniversary: “Tuesday Night” Bill Moore I first saw her in third grade And my heart leapt, my eyes betraying my desire As I just couldn’t look away For when you first encounter transcendent beauty Even in the third grade You might just stare – and I stared My parents asked that evening during supper, “Did you meet any new friends at school?” And I said, “No, Sir,” As I thought of her, and her golden brown hair And her perfect, stunning beauty And her kind eyes (I knew even then that her eyes were kind) And I felt a tingling, gnawing feeling in my stomach “No, Sir.” We danced in sixth grade, And I still remember the aroma Of her perfume mixed with hair spray and new clothes And the heart-pounding excitement of holding her warm hand And how it made me feel alive (I had never felt so alive) This morning I awoke and made coffee, as I always do And glanced at her, asleep in the filtered early-morning light She, my closest companion and lover for 24 years, And mother of five, With her golden brown hair and perfect beauty, And kind eyes Lying in our warm bed that last night had children reclining and asking For back-scratches and stories And questions like, “Will we make it to the Beach this year?” And, “I need some new shoes for school.” (They have no idea that we stretch to buy shoes And pull rabbits out of hats to make it to the beach And that we feel like the richest family in America) And my stomach had that tingling, gnawing feeling As I leaned down to kiss her rosy, warm cheek And she smiled, sleepily, with still-closed, kind eyes Others loved her for her rare beauty And her gifts and perfection For her knowledge and obedience But I loved her for the pilgrim soul in her And for what she was becoming And for her infatuation with Another And her ability to see herself With honest eyes And to change, and to love Ah, to love, to love Her beauty slays me, still As the years have been kind to her And I glance her way as she stands at the stove, Stirring the red sauce, And my mind swirls with longing and memories As conversations flow and music fills the room And I am reminded of the feel of her soft, warm hand in mine And the scent of the back of her neck And I am, indeed, alive I am alive As the glory of life happens In our kitchen on a Tuesday night, Spaghetti sauce simmering, As we discuss the day, and things that matter And things that don’t And the sound of children echoes through the house “Now the night, is blowing beneath your skin, And when you smile, I’m the richest man I know.”
Posted on: Mon, 21 Jul 2014 16:41:55 +0000
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