In

Sept 12 2013


Old married couples
who are still in love
can seem preposterous.
What did she see in him, you wonder.
Or what a beauty
she must have been
to have pursued, and won.
Although, in the fullness of time
it's hard to judge.
Because we all know
how old married couples
come to resemble each other,
until the least likely coupling
hardly seems odd.

Or are they out of love
but stay,
because change is tough
and the inertia of day-to-day
makes life bearable?
Because the weight
of expectation

anchors them,
the others who want, and need
this beacon of faithfulness?

You judge
by the small unacknowledged kindnesses.
The indulgent rolling of eyes
when he repeats that story
she knows by heart.
How unmoored she feels
when he is gone,
paper unread
table set
for one.
And his sleeplessness
left alone in bed
the night she spent
away.
Their settled love
protected inside

the castle walls,
where they tend to their garden
in the ever-after
of domestic life.

We think of falling in love
as a thrill-ride,
stepping over the edge
into giddy surrender
that never ends.
Of lust,
urgent, and reckless.
But not the love
that comes with time,
so enmeshed in the other
one is half a couple
more than oneself;
drawbridge drawn up,
temptation held
at the gate.

When the comfort of home

is wherever she is,

and here, with him. 

It is how they touch
that lets us in.
Straightening his tie
firmly, but gently,
thick hands, not quite so deft

buttoning the back of her dress.
Despite short tempers

long silences,
grudges, regrets, and tough times,

he still sees
his white-gowned bride,
and she, her gallant suitor.

More perfect, even
in the comforting blur
of failing eyes.
In the dim light
of their stone-walled fortress.