Magdalene (23)

Mother always said I was
A certain child.
Of easy affirmations.
But, even in the sun’s warmth,
I could say no
To any man
Who dared to wander
Even tenderly
Into my life.

Take Aaron, the architect.
Thoughtful as a
Spring rain
Knowing just when
To come between
My winter’s inner life
And my summer’s whimsy.

I could trust him
To stay at bay
From my
Braking withdrawals,
Or to lunge
Into my salty needs
In the blink
Of God’s eye,
As the Germans say.

I nodded to myself
Then, in my thirties,
That I could risk
My life with any guy
Who knew physics
And soaring steel,
Or could read a menu
By candle light.

Intrigued as I was
By any man
Who could fill in
Spaces with more
Spaces and firm walls,
I would, with the confidence
Of a straight-backed chair,
Find free-lance writers
Just as flexible on
A winter sled
Or a summer swing.
Anne

 

 

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