After yesterday’s virtual lambast and trumpet call regarding some issues I am currently passionate about either supporting or resolving, I was very blessed to remember my quietly fulfilling spousal relationship:
MISMATCHED
We seemed mismatched
as we chose opposite sides
of the tree to lean upon,
One looking over the hill,
the other looking
into the recent valley.
We seemed mismatched
as one bent over to humble labor
with sticks
while the other sat designing with
daydreams.
We seemed mismatched
as one must finish the overlapping
edges of the day
with matching bindings
while the other closes eyes to that
old sweet song from
joined limbs in youth.
We seemed mismatched
as one stopped leaning and looking
and bending and binding
to touch the other in borrowed designs
singing dreams of the now.
Our touching colors us well-matched as two bookends
required to hold our life-chapters.
Tomorrow, I plan to post about how we in this writers’ community jostle around day by day to match just well enough to help pull each other down the road to our goals!
granbee 