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.



Categories: identity, poetry, writing

Tags: , , ,

11 replies

  1. 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. 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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