Letter to Linda
For Straz
Stars blurred to blue that morning.
We shivered into jeans
and started the long walk to town.
Wind shirred the trees.
We felt our way
along a rutted road.
Then morning swept the sky
and flowers appeared in the fields
as if the stars had fallen.
Houses huddled in sleep;
dreams curled up like smoke.
The swings in the spielplatz hung limp
awaiting a form. Enticed by bakery lights
we splurged
and bought a loaf of bread – still warm.
And the air was a swelling of scent,
a yeasty rising, gluten, like joy
ballooning and filling the heart –
butter a yellow rivering
and bread melting to nothing
in that German morning.
We did not talk about men.
Instead, we ate warm bread
and listened to the bright applause of birds.
Ten years have hardened the crusts
that hide the separate textures of our lives.
We have married and moved on.
We have both met the Other Woman
whose casual, red nails puncture the heart.
We have stood at our separate windows
watching the slow rise of snow
wondering, What have I done? and
Where did it all go?
Now I feel the chill of empty chairs.
My kitchen hides from the sun.
On days like this, I see us sitting there
and realize that friendships need not fail.
I will be fed. And life will go on rising –
that good bread.
