The Raft of Our Love

My wife and I are having problems.
Anger wells up unexpectedly
little things combine
and sweep the other off
like a sleeper wave.
The outbound tide wisks us further apart.

There’s already a gulf of 17 years
When did it get so wide?
I worry I can’t swim that far,
that I’ll cramp and go under.

My eyes had been constantly fixed on that
distant light, unaware it drifted.

And so, each Wednesday at 3:45
we meet
we talk
we scavenge the flotsam
for sticks of caring
ropes of memory
beams of desire
anything that floats us
couples and hopes us
towards
the undiscovered island
of we two together.

 

 

© 2002 Homer Christensen

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