Anne Tibbitts writes

   stoking the woodstove 

with maple cherry fir and 

pine cedar shingle shack

filled with very old guitars

clothes made of colored

velvet and books stacked

up like corn silos all over the

woodfloor living room

warmed by the fire you

tended to, warmed by the

fires you stoked and

tenderly tended to

I took care of you when

your head got cracked

open by the side of that

log cabin when you’re

the planets all lined up

against you. I laughed

when I saw all that plastic

medical stuff sprayed to

your bloody matted hair,

but I washed it all off with

warm water and

Peppermint Soap and

Almond soap and when

you cried in the sweaty

nightmares for weeks

after the mishap, I'd bring

you tea and make you

wake up and drink it and

then I'd kiss your closed

eyes and you'd fall asleep

in my arms and snow

would be piling up out the

huge glass window by the

pond where in summer

we would always go

swimming in the morning

afternoon and at dusk.

You drove a huge car to

pick me up from my job at

the bookstore where I sat

at a big oak plank table

tutoring women how to

write resumes so when

they had to go back to

work after getting

divorced they’d know how

to convert their housewife

work into job market

mumbo jumbo.  We’d ride

for an hour facing the

setting sun, me and you

in the huge Oldsmobile,

and if the radio worked,

you'd say no—turn it off,

and then you’d sing made

up songs and roll down

the window to let bugs in

and flowers in the wind

would surround us and

sometimes you would pull

the car over and wed just

lay in the backseat taking

a nap and dreaming.....!

remember how you'd

wear your favorite faded

old farmers overalls with

no shirt in the really hot

summer thick with

humidity and my hair "was

so hot youd tell me to cut

it but I said no.

That time when you felt

your self slipping into

darkness, remember how

the answer was to eat

pork roast and

homemade biscuits? I

don't know how many

times we saved our

selves from each slipping

into bad places by just

scrubbing the wood floors

till they gleamed and then

making a meal wed have

to sleep off for days.

I loved you since the

moment my first life

began in this universe. I

knew I was supposed to

mingle with stars and

velvet and harmonicas

and you were part of my

blood when I took my first

breath. There has never

been a time that I did not

breathe for you on this

earth. And even when

we are apa every tree

that produces fruit stands

testimony to our destiny.

When you fall into a

raging river, I will bring

you back up through

foam and current. When

you burn your fingers on

hot toast, or you slurp tea

and spill it on your

tablecloth, I'll be there to

help. I want to slide

beneath your skin and

nestle against your

capillaries. I want to live

in the follicles of your

beard growth, I want to

listen to your ears hear

the slight sounds of gnats

buzzing by in autumn

twilight.

Every time you have set

foot in  a canoe,

I have been making

Roast beef samiches for

you to eat at lunch time. 

Every time you

have heard the hoot of a

far off owl, that has been

me reminding you why

blood is red. Your heart

has been sewn together

and made strong by the

silk threads of my

thots of tenderness

toward your every injury.

 1957 Oldsmobile Fiesta Wagon