Tomorrow Will Bring Its Own
It’s quiet this evening in our living room.
Words drip from the trees outside,
their branches heavy, roots trembling,
digging their toes into the soil.
With every creak of a limb a symphony
is written and released into the heavens.
But tonight I fix my gaze and my pen on you,
lying there on our couch, motionless, sleeping;
hair in your face, stomachache.
Twisted in a blanket that my grandmother knit me
a lifetime before I met you, you resemble
a lizard, a green bean, a caterpillar;
with sweaty face and strawberry hair
plastered to one side.
Tiny drops gather on my windowsill and I settle in
to watch the approaching storm,
ushered in by your slow, steady breathing.