Lying there beside her, I smell her skin, the warmth of her
I see, or imagine, in the gray light, the wrinkles
I’ve put there and I feel the storm of our lives
She’s told me her period’s wrong and that her breasts hurt.
For months we’ve tried to conceive
and come to this.
I put my hand on her back beneath the covers
intimate against her sleeping
I would know her skin anywhere.
I begin to feel age and our mortality.
Even now my body says I press too hard
that I cannot become what I once was.
And she who grows more precious to me each year
grow more ripe for He who reaps us all.
I touch her back and feel her breath … this moment.
Gallagher
3 April 83, SJC
— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —
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on Sunday, April 3rd, 1983 at 12:02 am and is filed under 1983, Rose, San Juan Capistrano.
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