8
TEN 
At Prospect Park, overlooking the city, you asked me would I and I said yes to you and yes again.
Do you remember how we trembled there as the light faded? So much unknown – the night stretched out before us.
It had not been easy, the months before. This blending of histories is a complicated thing. We don’t always know the weight of what we carry.
The night before her wedding, my mother doubted. But for me, I wrapped sugared almonds in white netting, tied them with ribbons. Almonds – bitter and sweet.
In the morning, there was rain. It is good luck, we were told. But by the afternoon, the sun came out, and we took photos by the great fountain in the courtyard.
At the hotel, we stayed up late – so late.
And when we went back to our little purple house on the west side, the house in the shade of the giant chestnut tree, nothing had changed there. We stepped across the threshold of our lives – a wide river flowing past – and let the current take us where we were to go.
The days and nights pass and sometimes we wonder where they have gone. Who were we then? Who will we become?
In the mornings you make coffee and we sit at the table for a few fleeting moments. And then, the day begins and we are off in all directions.
But sometimes, we find ourselves with an uninterrupted hour or two and we can remember:
The afternoons spent in bookstores, the dusty shelves, how we’d each wander but not too far, the separation unbearable even for those few moments – how we’d find each other at the ends of the aisles and embrace – look what I found, and look at this;
The nights at the frog park where we sat talking in the dark, no sounds but our own whispered voices and the steady report of the swings that held us aloft;
The long drives back from New York, the gray highway endless, and how I’d fall asleep there, leaning up against you. You’d sing to me as you drove and I’d awaken to the sound of your voice, low and sweet;
And the nights. When the whole world is nothing but the heat of our bodies. Glowing with fierce light.
All this: Yes.
And again.
Yes. 

TEN 

At Prospect Park, overlooking the city, you asked me would I and I said yes to you and yes again.

Do you remember how we trembled there as the light faded? So much unknown – the night stretched out before us.

It had not been easy, the months before. This blending of histories is a complicated thing. We don’t always know the weight of what we carry.

The night before her wedding, my mother doubted. But for me, I wrapped sugared almonds in white netting, tied them with ribbons. Almonds – bitter and sweet.

In the morning, there was rain. It is good luck, we were told. But by the afternoon, the sun came out, and we took photos by the great fountain in the courtyard.

At the hotel, we stayed up late – so late.

And when we went back to our little purple house on the west side, the house in the shade of the giant chestnut tree, nothing had changed there. We stepped across the threshold of our lives – a wide river flowing past – and let the current take us where we were to go.

The days and nights pass and sometimes we wonder where they have gone. Who were we then? Who will we become?

In the mornings you make coffee and we sit at the table for a few fleeting moments. And then, the day begins and we are off in all directions.

But sometimes, we find ourselves with an uninterrupted hour or two and we can remember:

The afternoons spent in bookstores, the dusty shelves, how we’d each wander but not too far, the separation unbearable even for those few moments – how we’d find each other at the ends of the aisles and embrace – look what I found, and look at this;

The nights at the frog park where we sat talking in the dark, no sounds but our own whispered voices and the steady report of the swings that held us aloft;

The long drives back from New York, the gray highway endless, and how I’d fall asleep there, leaning up against you. You’d sing to me as you drove and I’d awaken to the sound of your voice, low and sweet;

And the nights. When the whole world is nothing but the heat of our bodies. Glowing with fierce light.

All this: Yes.

And again.

Yes. 

  1. janetisserlis said: all the love and then more and it is limitless. I think so. love and more love to you.
  2. mkimarnold posted this