for J
I love her hunched over coffee, pen in hand.
Up at eight to circle ads, she plots our route
while I’m still in bed. Saturday morning
spent in musty garages eying stranger’s
stickered history: hockey skates worn
half a season $10, all manner of racquets $2,
board games with missing pieces
and Robert Ludlum novels 25 cents. Junk, mostly,
but we both know treasure when we find it:
old tins, apple boxes at bargain prices.
She knows there’s a story in every object
and takes the time to ask. That was my grandfather’s axe.
She has the patience I lack, sees the potential
in everything. A rusted ten speed
for five bucks, that she’ll sand and repaint.
I love her hunched over the spokes
polishing with a toothbrush.
3 comments:
I lovely snapshot. I enjoy the way you build the intimacy of the relationship with the activity/objects.
I found line 12 a bit clunky "and takes the time to ask. That was my grandfather’s axe" and maybe just a different object/relation?
I also wondered if you needed to repeat the "I love her" in the 2nd last line? The words would still be echoed from the first line if you leave "hunched"?
A lovely snapshot. Sheesh.
Hey Bren,
The first line of this poem made me take a deep breath...and I hadn't yet expelled it by poem's end.
So...I want more meditation on value, on what we keep and what we throw away.
I want more unlikely details of love.
(And what a nice deep breath it was, too...)
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