The complicated way you express your love

The rain came back, so long since we’d seen it

I went outside waiting, listening for it,

trying not to draw parallels to my dry

January: Dawn and I got a table

at the steakhouse, a split of bubbly,

and me, a 20 oz. ribeye I ate all of,

including the fat—

In the morning my head hurt, but I walked

to the lake feeling old, feeling more alive, though:

then laid on the sofa in our den

with no sound but the clock and the dog

shifting, letting the kids sleep in,

making plans, drinking water,

remembering what I could of

past Februarys, hoping for snow,

knowing no more, feeling

no pressure to, wanting

to be a better man, but

sure to forget

again, in the morning.

About pinklightsabre

William Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
This entry was posted in identity, poetry, writing and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

11 Responses to The complicated way you express your love

  1. rossmurray1 says:

    Ah, the massive gap between wanting and doing. Happy February.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Reading this, for some reason, it occurred to me that I had no idea what “February” meant, other than a synonym for “dismal” in the northeast. “Feast of purification” (never heard of it, and don’t remember anyone mentioning this before) I read no further, in case there were conditions and qualifications that we wouldn’t want to do. but a ribeye steak seems like a darn good idea, and the champagne headache to remind us to keep plugging away at getting better. I like this poem and its title.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. ksbeth says:

    it’s complicated. as good an explanation for most anything as any. there is no arguing against it.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Enjoyed this a lot, Bill. Thanks.

    Liked by 1 person

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