A Valentines Story

Both too tired to really relax
they slept until mid morning
There was talk of breakfast to honor the day
but alarms were just met with yawning
The sunlight eventually stirred them both
and they stumbled out of bed
Now too late for breakfast, not enough time for brunch
so tea was drunk instead
Half an hour was dreamed away
with talk of what they’d do that day,
if the Sunday were theirs for the taking
We could paint that wall
or unpack those boxes
or maybe do some baking!
Pour me some more, he said
and she smiled
but the pot was bitter and cold
‘Is this how every Sunday will be
now that we’re married and old?’
Together they laughed at the shape of their life
then it really was time to go
He went downtown, she stayed up
and the next few hours were slow
Finally at five o’clock
she decided the day wasn’t done
So she put on all of the clothes she could find
and headed out in the fading sun
She brought him gifts of decaf coffee
and gluten free red velvet cake
And there on the floor of New York’s Penn Station
the couple sat down for their date.
The coffee, of course,
by this time, was cold
but the cake was incredibly good
Then half an hour came and went
‘I should get back.’
‘I know, you should.’
They left, together, hand in hand
and she said, as they got to his door
‘There’s no one I’d rather spend half an hour with
having coffee and cake on the floor.’
Stolen moments are sometimes the best
when you thought that a day day was lost
For years she flew over oceans for him,
what’s a train ride and a bit of frost?

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To the English house

A year seems like a life time when it feels like you’ve slept through most of it
Certainly long enough to beat a few good grooves of doubt into your own back
You trace them now with your fingers and suddenly they are ugly and real
but a wise man your Father introduced you to told you that everything is cracked
and that through those cracks the light you have been looking for
but hiding from is able to slip through
You could fill them in. Smooth them down and paint over them
and nobody but you would ever know they were there
Or you could leave the wounds open to dry out in the sun,
let the little one that lives under your bed help you lick them clean
and then see if you can’t make something of them one day.
Share this work with someone though… you waited long enough to be able to
Colour in the big gaps together
Then underneath that perfect surface is a secret belonging to both of you
and you’re not quite so blinded by the day light steaming through the holes in your armor.
But leave a few. English houses need to breathe a little.
So let in the light and the air from outside
and if it all gets too much
you can throw on a blanket
or find a friend to build you a fire.