Written for my wife.
Appeared in Vine Leaves
Nominated for a 2012 Puschcart Prize
Appeared in Vine Leaves
Nominated for a 2012 Puschcart Prize
You laughed
You laughed. And I knew.
Before the beginning, before those moments of conversation, quiet interludes while drinking with friends, our Friday night escape from the rigors of life. Between Pilsners and gin, we revealed ourselves, spoke of our families and childhood. Of your growing up outside Detroit, rock and roll and alcohol, adolescence in the Motor city. Of my youth, almost a redneck, beagles and hunting. Those moments slowly expanded, dominated, excluded the conversations of those around us. Became our reason for going out.
Before that night at Disco Inferno, when you stole a kiss in the chaos of beer and sweat, your sweetness and my longing. A kiss that surprised, elated, came with a look in your eyes that captured me. That owns me still.
Before our ”Amish” courtship, pecks before parting. Images of you, the possibilities, stealing my sleep. Because I knew what you could be.
Before our sprint to my condo in my battered, blue hatchback, giggling in the flash of streetlights, the majority of our clothes still on your floor, a quest for condoms to consummate months of anticipation.
Before Sunday mornings, sun on our faces, sharing coffee and newspaper on your balcony, glances and smiles, both of us in awe of what we'd discovered.
Before the ceremony, the state's sanctioning of what we already knew. What we had known before we'd dare speak of it.
Before the trepidation and anticipation as you expanded, life growing within you. Before the pain, the blood, the sweat and tears. The brush with tragedy as you brought life into the world. Into our world. Before nights of exhaustion and frustration, questioning our abilities and our sanity.
Before we did it all again!
Before you read “Goodnight Kisses” to an audience of two boys and an awe-struck father, their heads on your shoulders, their attention on the pages, my life caught in the moment, their eyes, their breaths, their being.
Before all these memories wrapped around us, drew us together, gave us this life. Before all of it.
You laughed.
Almost a stranger, an acquaintance, a friend of a friend.
You laughed and I felt lonely.
And I knew I loved you.
You laughed. And I knew.
Before the beginning, before those moments of conversation, quiet interludes while drinking with friends, our Friday night escape from the rigors of life. Between Pilsners and gin, we revealed ourselves, spoke of our families and childhood. Of your growing up outside Detroit, rock and roll and alcohol, adolescence in the Motor city. Of my youth, almost a redneck, beagles and hunting. Those moments slowly expanded, dominated, excluded the conversations of those around us. Became our reason for going out.
Before that night at Disco Inferno, when you stole a kiss in the chaos of beer and sweat, your sweetness and my longing. A kiss that surprised, elated, came with a look in your eyes that captured me. That owns me still.
Before our ”Amish” courtship, pecks before parting. Images of you, the possibilities, stealing my sleep. Because I knew what you could be.
Before our sprint to my condo in my battered, blue hatchback, giggling in the flash of streetlights, the majority of our clothes still on your floor, a quest for condoms to consummate months of anticipation.
Before Sunday mornings, sun on our faces, sharing coffee and newspaper on your balcony, glances and smiles, both of us in awe of what we'd discovered.
Before the ceremony, the state's sanctioning of what we already knew. What we had known before we'd dare speak of it.
Before the trepidation and anticipation as you expanded, life growing within you. Before the pain, the blood, the sweat and tears. The brush with tragedy as you brought life into the world. Into our world. Before nights of exhaustion and frustration, questioning our abilities and our sanity.
Before we did it all again!
Before you read “Goodnight Kisses” to an audience of two boys and an awe-struck father, their heads on your shoulders, their attention on the pages, my life caught in the moment, their eyes, their breaths, their being.
Before all these memories wrapped around us, drew us together, gave us this life. Before all of it.
You laughed.
Almost a stranger, an acquaintance, a friend of a friend.
You laughed and I felt lonely.
And I knew I loved you.
