Tuesday to Tuesday - A week long love affair
Whenever she held my hand,
I see that the heart is a catalogue of memories for which I want to now remember. The way small artichokes filled her pockets and how she used a purple table knife to cut right through them. The image of orange trees, with green leaves and small white flowers that smell like heaven is floating right here with us, and how she danced and sang underneath it all and how none of it was perfect, but because of this, it became so. The sounds of water boiling, a sharp knife slicing through stocky bright vegetables, the sound of shuffling feet on a hard floor and how I can see she will one day make the perfect mother. The clinking of green beer bottles, and how after she spoke about her father, her past loves, the toothy smile of her grandmother, her voice taught me of the power of language and how words are powerless without meaning. The bend in her neck and how when I kissed her there, I could feel myself finally unfold.
And when she kissed me goodbye,
I remembered how my heart is still open to both memories to be made and memories that once were, and how the folds of her life fit within mine without apology.