On Saturday, June 26 th, 2010
For long walks and wandering words and love on a dime and trails only for two and it really only takes a moment to plan how to light a match and hold hands. I forget. He remembers. And plans can kindle flames hotter than wood split and stacked and dried all summer in sun. M ay all you wanderings this weekend, kind friends, enact simple plans to light a match…. All&...
On Thursday, June 24 th, 2010
He never reads in this place and he hasn’t read the letter. He does read me. I need to get brave and give him yesterday’s letter. Yesterday he gave me these. He grinned when he said that he had plans. I read him. And I wink.
On Wednesday, June 23 rd, 2010
When I opened the first letter you ever sent me, I was fifteen and the snow was chest high in that village up in the Quebec mountains where I tried to learn how to ski and speak French and make poutine, all of which I only mangled. I tore open into your envelope right there at the post office. I read your lines five times walking the snow piled streets back to the school, my ...
On Wednesday, June 16 th, 2010
On the fourth day of our honeymoon, he’s ready to get back to work and we come home three days early and he goes back to the barn and I unpack the wedding gifts in an empty kitchen. I cry ugly, shoulders shuddering and tears dripping off the end of my nose, because I just know. I married the wrong man. For the first year after the vows, I am certain of this. He goes to b...
On Wednesday, June 09 th, 2010
That whole December day after he proposes with a ring of gold, we cut wood, lay down trees and push the round trunks straight into the saw and the steely teeth of the blade cuts all the rings, all the lined years, into long planks of lumber and I stare smitten at my finger, shift my hand for the flash, dazzled by a diamond. My father plans on making a forest into a floor. The...
On Wednesday, May 26 th, 2010
When my Grandma told me to marry a man who wasn’t much to look at so there’d be little worry of him wandering, I had nodded ‘cause I loved her. But I confess. I didn’t intend to pay her any mind. I did ask her if she had taken her own advice. She said yes — and my grandfather had slapped the worn knee of his jeans and roared with laughter and I saw it with my own ...
On Monday, May 10 th, 2010
On Mother’s Day in the afternoon, I strip down our sheets and enfold them into the dark womb of the washing machine. Because on Mother’s Day first thing in the morning, I had heard the clattering of bowls in the kitchen and I’d waited still and when a son brought breakfast to me in bed, I’d laid with the eyes closed and whispered, “Joshua… ...
On Friday, March 26 th, 2010
His hands are working hands, grease-grooved and love worn in service. It’s just those hands I am looking for, just like that, and I find what I’m looking for out in the shop, him working on equipment for spring and planting and tilling dirt. I come out to him with a plate of red sweet still warm. To feed him what a man always just needs. Encouragement. Just encour...
On Monday, February 01 st, 2010
Thirty seven years ago she was thirty seven years old and in a winter snow storm, she felt the uterine wall tighten, hard blast. She leaned against a door frame and held her swollen side and breathed heavy, steady. The time had come for the ninth, to breathe the babe out with the labored prayers. I lay beside him now, the babe that time made a man. The moon out the window leave...
On Tuesday, January 19 th, 2010
He lays his hand on my bare shoulder. Water drips from the tips of strands tousled and tucked and a rivulet runs down the small of my back. He kisses me dry. “I have no idea what to wear.” I’m paying him no mind, standing before the closet with my towel, mumbling words. Hangers clatter. “This skin you’re wearing is pretty beautiful.” His stubble finds the curv...
On Tuesday, November 24 th, 2009
The hour is late and the house dark and I lie on the pillow listening to the spin of the washing machine, day’s last load, the splash of the dishwasher too, after the feast, And his hand, that one that fed the stock today, Shoveled the dung, brought in the eggs, That washed her smeared face after the dinner and the ice cream, it finds my waist under the sheets and his s...
On Friday, October 09 th, 2009
Oh, what a man can do to a woman…. and a woman to man. Read me over here today? (But only if you’re ready for some Song of Solomon….) Photos: Farmer Husband’s working hands…Share your thoughts?…Would you like to sign up for more quiet thoughts via email?…