nine years { scenes from a marriage }

(you were the boy with the Nova
i was a writer. a teenage girl. i saw
a story in your enormous brown eyes
and with the prescience of authors,
knew that i would be part of it.
my best friend. three words that
remind me less of Pablo and Frieda,
more of Anne and Gilbert.
i always wanted to be Anne.)

you are my open door,
my plot line, my writing device,
the slender thread around my wrist
reminding me of the true religion.
you are my own possible heartbreak,
my wildest sex, the arbiter of life's trades.
you are my ride to the ER,
the name the nurse leaned in to hear
when I awoke from surgery.
you are my champion.
you are the capable hands of fatherhood,
the protector, guidance, alliance.
you are the den in the hillside of grief.
you are the under me of underneath,
the mate i meet in the woods.
you are the face of the stranger
i thought i knew, and meet and meet again.
and still (you are the closest I've ever been.)
you are drunken fucks, racaous laughter,
adult conversation, political debate, Irish lust,
you are the eyes that keep me from across the room.
you are the warm mouth of intimacy,
the cradling arms of safety
you are the great lion of loyalty.
you are my slow river and my safest shoredarling you are the one i built the treehouse for,
the one i waited for (the beach, white dress.)
you are the infuriating, adoring, adored.
the best. the best. the best.

Happy Anniversary my sweetheart
yours forever KOHM