In Love
I am not on the shore of my youth,
barefoot, dressed in JCPenney, plain-pocket denims
and a red, flannel shirt.
I am in bed next to you.
The driveway between the house
and the garage has become Lake Michigan.
I praise the morning sun.
There is a chance we’ll see the aurora borealis
again.
This night:
the darkness, the sun, the moon, the aurora
awakened by the crush of this past week’s stampeding grey clouds.
It is painful on the shore where I am not standing.
My toes absorb the cold of the under-sand.
I hold my coffee cup with both hands.
There are boulders old as earth
holding back the pine trees.
The sun rises over both death and life.
The quilted colors surrounding me are beautiful.
The clouds have passed,
yet I still grieve,
missing those who can no longer miss me.
I am not in my turquoise bikini, wishing for a kiss
from someone whose name I will not remember.
I am not looking over my shoulder.
I am not in my green polyester shorts
at logrolling lessons. I am not
grieving, because no one has died.
I am riding my bike home.
I am sharpening my pencils.
I am at the window of my youth.
I am in bed with you.
I am trying to pray.
I am writing this poem.
I am praising the morning sun.
~Ride of My Life
