A Poem

She’s So Great To Come Home To

When I creep in late
and strip in the dark,
softly bathed by city lights,
and she’s lying heavy on her pillow,
radiating steam heat,
exhaling soft stable snorts,
I see the outline of a solid figure,
a substantial presence in my life,
a foundation on which to build the new me.

I used to lie awake anyway,
alert to the slightest creaks
and shifts in the settling structure
I had constructed around my dread.
But sometimes now I can’t sleep
for the strangeness of it.
Here is my mate, my other half,
so unexpected, so unprecedented.
How did this happen? Where did she
come from? What did I do to deserve this?

I never could have extrapolated
from what I knew,
Hollywood dramas and screwball comedies,
unfulfilling serial monogamy
and my parents’ tired, comfortable
cohabitation with seven children.
It was never like this,
never a thinking, breathing life partner,
whose every chortle, every malaprop,
is further confirmation of our lifetime deal.

Even when we fight,
even when we haven’t settled it by bedtime,
we still need to sleep together,
because the battlefield lies here.
This proximity is our agenda,
our journey, our business, our life.

Oh sweaty, snorty, solid presence in my life,
Let me spoon you, let me smell you,
let me share your bed that isn’t quite
wide enough for two, comfortably,
and wake you with my restless tossing.
If I close my eyes, please
be there when I open them again.


Larry Beresford
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