My Ordinary Love
I want you to know
what a simple thing it is,
what a plain, what a humdrum.
I want you to know
what a grey thing it is,
what a gritty, what a numb.
I want you to know
what a simple thing it is,
what a plain, what a humdrum.
I want you to know
what a grey thing it is,
what a gritty, what a numb.
I remember that brief period of hyphenation.
When separate cups held each of our toothbrushes,
and they bowed to one another honorably from across the vanity.
I wanted to save something beautiful for you.
The last three jewels of glistening pomegranate
balanced in the palm of my hand before I ate them.
We had not quite been arguing
that night—but talking, discussing
how I answer any mood of yours
that falls below cheery contentment
with a litany of solutions
I do not always have the right thing to say
This is our second Christmas, the make-it-or-break-it Christmas where we decide. I didn’t know whether I would still love you