I remember your remembrance of January 5,
Learned only from your telling of The Little Church Around the Corner
And perhaps—do I really remember—a faded photograph
Of a bride in short white dress and veil,
a groom slender then in a blue serge suit—
or is this how I wished it to have been
when you told me that you had been in love,
had even started his cigars in your mouth
and lit them to pass them to him as he steered
the old Chevy on Sunday drives
when the Parkway was new
and the cemetery it weaves between
was not so crowded.
I remember thirty years later when he died
And was buried in that cemetery
and you were so angry at him
you would not let them carve his first name on his tombstone,
Only his last name. And yet you listed his name—never yours
In the telephone directory for nearly twenty years
Until bent with arthritis, Parkinson’s disease and finally
a broken bone, you left for a nursing home.
Now both—your name and his– are on that tombstone,
And forgetting my own memories,
I remember your remembrance of your wedding day,
Your way of telling that you had not yet lost hope.
Today is January 5, and I want you both to know
That I remember what she remembered then,
And while I can, and do, I remember
She remembered hope.
- The header art is a detail from one of a series of paintings called "The Quilted Fields of Provence."
To inquire about size and price of high quality giclee prints of art appearing in "Ink, Paint & Words"contact Marguerite at firstname.lastname@example.org