Three years and counting

Poetry

is this very moment with it’s eyes
open, the man I love escaping,

the twitch of his heartbeat
in the bowl of his throat. His sleep-

That between him and words
is my world- the only place I let things

happen. The petals we used to put in
our drawers, the summer opening.

We searched all night
for gardenia, where the smell

was coming from, what I tasted
in the cake. His eyes

not opening, but when we found the flower,
I took it, brought it with me,

can still smell it now. His hair is miniscule
and strong, his body-the white

of clay. Everyone should die
with questions, leaving that door

open, to remain, to hold the space

between what we want
and what we want to open.

(Written by me, for my husband, some many years ago. . .)

Today is my husband and I's three year anniversary. Pretty exciting, though the fact that it's Wednesday makes it slightly anticlimactic. But it's definitely a big thing to celebrate, especially because many marriages these days don't see the other side of the three year anniversary. In many ways, it's hard to believe that it's been only three years. We packed a lot into this time: moved from Colorado to Chicago, a PhD program, bought a condo and moved within Chicago, had a baby, suffered the death of three of our grandparents, my parent's divorce and three of the most brutal winters I've ever seen. But in many ways, of course, it seems like only yesterday I was standing next to him, holding my purple flowers, thinking "wow. we're actually married!"
But boy is my Brian a trooper. He's made so many sacrifices for me over the last three years, sacrifices that most men would scoff at and walk away from. But he's still here, and sometimes I even think he might still like me. It will surely be my turn soon to "pay up," but that's OK. That's what it's all about. The give and take.

The poem I posted is very old and different from what I write now, but the lines, "but when we found the flower,/I took it, brought it with me,/can still smell it now" resonates with me today. Love is like a memory: very strong and powerful at first, but it dissipates and settles in, the intensity fades, but it's always there. The stronger the love, the stronger the resonance. Hmm, how sentimantal of me. But true.

I knew it three years ago and I know it more than ever today- I'm am blessed to have Brian as my hubby. He's a keeper.