Monday, October 6, 2008
“A cold front is coming through,” I say.
“I know, ” he says from the bathroom.
I lie back and listen to fat drops of rain
slap against the roof of our home.
Tomorrow, through a frosted window
I’ll watch you rake Crayola colors with
winters’ breath resting on the back of
your neck. In the evening the phone will
ring with family and friends offering their
congratulations. I’ll pin my hair up and
wonder if it would look better short, as we
dress for dinner like William Powell and
Myrna Loy in one of those old movies.
The waiter will guide us to our table, a
darkened corner in our favorite little Italian
restaurant. I’ll call you darling and laugh
at all your clever jokes and in the soft glow
of candlelight we’ll make toasts to our past
and to our future. After a few glasses of
wine I’ll feel your hand heavy on my thigh
as you kiss me lightly growing ever more
insistent. The bill will be paid quickly as we
race home to make love on freshly laundered
sheets and I’ll sigh in all the appropriate places,
as you eventually collapse into that deep sleep.
When I wake in the first cold rays of morning
I’ll look at you. I mean really look at you. There
it will begin in that pushed back area of my mind,
a question slowly forming. Can I make it through