An Embrace After Winter

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I sit at the kitchen counter,
you come and slide your arm
diagonally across my chest,
above my left arm and beneath my right
so now my head rests on the meat of your shoulder.
I curl my arm around yours and lay my hand at your elbow.
I feel my core release and you bear the weight of my torso now.
Your fingertips press into the flesh of my back and side in
large circular strokes.  I am aware that I have neither
just birthed a baby nor have we just conceived one,
and yet here we are wrapped into each other,
wreathed, supporting and supported.

You’ve just come back from driving our oldest to rehearsal,
and our three young ones are gathered at the counter with me
dying eggs for Easter.  I’ve no idea what has drawn you to me
in this moment, but I thank God for it, and I will come
to remember these sensations of release and letting go
as the moment I began to trust in the turnings of seasons.

Diamond Cut Glass

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It slipped from my hand to the granite counter top
and split jaggedly in two thick, heavy pieces.

Everything I think I know tells me it’s Grandma’s dish,
though I don’t remember scooping mixed nuts from its smooth curve
or picking candy from inside its pointed armor.

When it cracked, I did too.

In the evening I rinsed that day-old sink of handwashables
and thought about the recent past.
It was a heavy day, full of life, death,
and commitments.

It must’ve been the thinking.
It’s never about the dish.