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.