Leaving Linden Street

Our gracious house folded us into her cheerful light doing her best to distract us from our misperceptions.  

I thought he was jovial. He assumed I lived on easy street. 

We assembled a life together built from separate pain; we thought long friendship would be a foundation. Instead, assumptions built a wedge. 

I thought he was affable. He hoped I would acquiesce. 

We gave new life to his handsome house, new lawn from a field of weeds. We hosted two weddings, made wonderful friends.  

I thought he was intelligent. He implied I annoyed.  

We spent winters in the west, toured distant places, museums. His mother died. My brother died.  

I thought he was big hearted . He used my generosity.  

We lingered over the morning papers, coffee and music on the porch…hovered over news scoops and horoscopes. His meals were magazine covers. 

I thought he was bored. He considered me too busy. 

We watched the trees cast long shadows across newly cut grass. Warm lights came on behind the wavy window glass. 

I thought his temper short. He insisted I provoked. 

We reconstructed his house and body. He resented the distraction when a massive storm swept through my life. 

He wasn’t jovial. I didn’t live on easy street. 

Our old house stood with stately presence over our upheaval; loss and change were familiar. We grieved the new life we could not maintain.