Fidelity

Secondly, I am not afraid because I love you,
But because I love you, I am afraid: what comes
Upon us all, sometime comes to one of us. It
Would not be fair to want it either way, the
Suffering internal, held up as sacrifice, or
External, to serve as best I could while you
Bear the burden for us both. An act of infidelity
Either way. Too much to ask for all to be well?
But when it strikes, it may not conquer, then:
Let it be me. Some part of me longs to suffer.
Only a fool admits this, in a poem or otherwise.
Worse still, with strength hardly tested beyond
Ache or strain. Then again, first things first,
How else can we know the limits of love than to
Make the promise that the body could never keep?

The Lucky One

Of all the things I doubt, they're never one.
This life we make, day on day, is all we need to be certain.
Like one step echoes, then three more, & I'm the lucky one who follows.
I'm the lucky one who follows.

"Where Our Destination Lies" - Ben Gibbard by arthur_film

A bit of dust...

I don't usually post a poem (or whatever this is) right as I write it, but this time I decided I would. Our youngest son, F., was taking a nap, but E. and I were supposed to watch our nieces and nephews this afternoon, so E. and L. went on over and I stayed here to let F. sleep. I decided to listen to a few records and relax. I chose Hometowns by The Rural Alberta Advantage. The songs on this album are mostly love songs--non-typical love songs--and the album is a continuing narrative. It was a great way to spend an hour of a Saturday afternoon. It made me think about my wife and my family and how being alone, even for a short time, and missing the ones you love can be a helpful experience. The last song on side B of the album is called "In the Summertime". It is a wonderful song. I got up and replayed it several times.  As it ended for the last time, F. woke up and called for me to help him out of bed. The poem came to me at the first pop of dust during track one, but it didn't fully emerge until F.'s cry.
----
Call & Answer

A bit of dust just made the record pop,
a bit of back beat, just behind the bang
& crash.

               Edging the volume
one more notch to hear the clicks
& taps, the sweet impurity of hiss,

careful not to wake the sleeper,
hopeful that the spin stays true--
one more song & back for you.

----
and when we're middle aged,
you tell me i loved you like a renegade
----

The gift of an empty room 

& longed-for sounds:
windows for light, 

drums for heart, 

coupled voices

cut the quiet 

like breeze

through 

heat.

----

our love is strong...

while my heart's still pumping blood.

----

At that last song's last beat, 

the organ's wail or whine dies.

There's one final click & the sound 

of the automatic arm's robotic swing & drop...

The gift of loneliness goes,

no other song will do its service.

But the rising song of a waking son:

Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,...

That call is an answer,

and my answer is  of course.