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Personal Note:

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Poem

We return at nightfall, shoulders bowed, weighed down by slights and insults. They 
fall from us at the door,
as everything beyond these walls recedes. The horns and sirens, the pain and 
desperation that invade our outside life,
all are silenced.

We join each other and sit, and rise and sit, in unison. Then cleansed, we bow our 
heads
letting love seep over the table until even the most humble
foods-- the potatoes, the salt--feel shy and deeply cherished.

When the meal ends, we find that we are pulled apart strand  by strand, that the 
walls and floor are as deeply connected

as our arms and legs. The elements have to weave 
and reweave as we move from room to room, sitting down in one

or walking out of another. We connect almost as fluidly,
bashful
as strangers, Couteous, we pass in the hallways without touching;
we close each door with the faintest sound; we say please
and thank you and God bless you again and again, as though the act

of sneezing were a form prayer and we were only answering
in kind. In silence, we perform the ritual ablutions, as we always

have; bathing in the dim sunlight of the morning
washing our faces
as we undress for bed. And in the end we lift the quilts and find

each other there, waiting. every breath reverent,
every touch of skin a testament.

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