We had fruit salad on the deck in the sun, and she stared at me in the same soft way I have been falling into her. She finally said in a tone that precedes emotion, “I couldn’t imagine myself living with any other man.” It was then we realized the robin had hatched her eggs in the maple. Two red twittering beaks jerked up and disappeared, making the most strident and unfinished of moans.

Thank God we didn’t disturb the nest. Such a simple ingredient to mortality—do not disturb the nest. That’s what the garage was all about. Do not disturb the nest. The watering of her flowers has become more symbolic by the day, as if I’m watering her insides, fussing over veins that lean and small organs that curl.

Living with the Wound

LIVING WITH THE WOUND

There is a need to be specific

if we are to survive,

which requires being honest,

the way seeing requires

the eyes to stay open.

It means I can tell you

when you hurt me

and still count on your love.

It means being honest

with myself, knowing

the ugly things are not

always someone else’s.

I’ve been thinking how

practical people cut the cord

to those who’ve broken hope,

the way breeders shoot horses

with broken legs, as if

there’s nothing to be done.

Now I know they do this

for themselves, not wanting

to care for a horse that cannot run,

not wanting to sit with a friend

who can’t find tomorrow, not wanting

to be saddled with anything

that will slow them down.

I used to think it bad timing.

When I was up, you were down.

When you were ready,

I was scared. But since

we’ve never given up on each other,

it’s clear that drinking wonder

when we’re sad is how we shed

the things we love about pain.

I have a right to joy

even when lonely,

even when in pain,

and you never need

to cover your wounds

when entering my house.

If your voice breaks, I’ll be a cup.

If your heart sweats, I’ll be a pillow

on which you’ll chance to dream

that weeping is singing

through an instrument

that’s hard to reach,

though it lands us like lightning

in the grasp of each other

where giving is a mirror

of all we cannot teach.

Questions to Walk With

QUESTIONS TO WALK WITH

•  In your journal, tell the story of a pain and how it rearranged you. What in you is different for having experienced this pain? Are you more whole for experiencing this pain? If so, how? If not, how is the experience of this pain keeping you from being whole?

•  In your journal, describe a time when you became too entrenched in the occupation of blaming another. What did the energy of blame keep you from in yourself?