Over the years of knowing the Textiliste and the 36 years married I’ve written a few poems to that love. Here are two sonnets, the first based on the Elizabeth Barrett Browning classic
How Do I Love You?
(Sonnets From The Portuguese XLIII, Elizabeth Barrett Browning)
How do I love you? Let me count the ways.
I love you when the mundane morning chorus
Of the prattling radio wakes us
And you mine the duvet like it’s the End of Days.
I love you when you leave me at the station
To walk home in the rain, dripping clothes and oaths.
I love you for understanding what no one else knows
In my silences and wordless impatience.
I love you for laughing at oft-told stories
Never querying my many variations.
I love you for ignoring my aberrations
And allowing me my unworthy glories.
And if grief comes to me, dripping slow
I will love you more than you will ever know.
The Hand That Guides
Your consoling hand sits light on my sleeve,
A confident tap to release me on four;
We set sail, in step, gliding with ease
Past blind spots and missteps strewn on the floor.
I fumble to catch that elusive toe-tap
Which, if I could, would allow me my head.
You remind me, by way of a quick finger snap,
Of the dangers where taking that path might lead.
I continually try to do it my way,
To give into weakness of flesh and of soul
But you hold my love tight; I cannot stray
And we remain linked; two parts of one whole.
May it always be thus as we gib and we tack;
Both looking forward, your hand at my back.