Reflection

After a long, busy day, a period of rest, of relaxation. We sat together companionably, restfully, blissfully, on the glider on the deck behind our house. A wonderfully warm day. A brisk breeze, perfectly clear sky. We've been together a long time, he and I. In several weeks' time we'll be celebrating our 52nd wedding anniversary. Celebrating not in the popular term, since we have no plans to go out on the town, gift one another with costly presents, but just a quiet acknowledgement of all that time together.

All what time together? Where did it all go? Why, it wasn't all that long ago that we were kids, walking together, talking together, dancing together, planning our futures. When did all that future happen? Where did the past go? We sat on the deck, on the glider, a slender collection of poetry between us, and we read. He's a faster reader than me, so I knew that when I was finished reading a poem he would have finished and it was all right for me to turn the page to the next poem.

I wasn't prepared for the poem on page 21. Couldn't recall writing it, although I could recall, sometimes fairly clearly, the circumstances that led me to write many of the other poems, the actual day and experiences we shared that encouraged a particular poem to write itself. This one was different.

Reflection

We fondle our past
with fingers of fond memory
echoing regret
at swift passing.

You recall me
soft and round
waiting and eager
that element of danger
of quick discovery
and swift withdrawal
but always there
waiting

and you
see in me still
that other
the one who
lingers back there
dark-haired and nubile
and you smile

here
I am, Love
don't you see me?
This pale reflection
refracting the
purity of youth
is only time
wrinkling the present.

Amazing. I wrote that poem 27 years ago.