It is the anniversary of Thomas's death soon. All words are flown, and with them levity. My friends, I wish I could make possible your desire to be with me; but in this I am alone, even as I feel your love.
For want of direction, I re-read the poems, written by me, which my good friend Sam read at our wedding. Here they are:
Poem
for Thomas
I walk in
to your study to tell you I love you.
You have
your headphones on and your back to me.
I stand
behind you and tell you anyway.
I tell
you that you make my days, my life, special;
that I
will try, when we have a family,
to be what
a family needs me to be.
I will
try to be bold when the urge to hide tugs me away.
I will
try to remember that your faults are few and insignificant.
It does
not matter if the milk does not return to the fridge.
It does
not matter if you do not know what I told you this morning.
It does
not matter if you never buy a birthday card.
It
matters, more than my heart can hold,
the truth
of it spilling down my cheeks and neck,
that you
love me;
that you
stand with me.
As I tell
you all this
you nod
your head to your private rhythm
because
of course you know already.
The urge
to kiss you is strong
but I
can’t stop watching you,
wondering
at you.
I tell
you I think you are brilliant.
You nod
harder.
I laugh.
You turn
and grin.
He and I
The day
is old and beautiful.
The music
stopped a while ago.
He and I
dance in the living room,
Dancing
slow for my knees and his heart -
A
lifetime of dancing and loving paying its toll.
He and I
dance our forgotten dreams,
Lost
hopes,
Flown
children.
He and I
dance as darkness falls on our shared life;
Smiling
because it’s been so good
Crying
because so little is left to do.
He and I
keep dancing,
Keep
daring to know all of each other,
Keep
dancing towards death,
But all
the while dancing together in life.
He and I
Old and
beautiful
Thomas on Our Honeymoon
