10 August 2006

Poetry Thursday: Marriage

I was unable to complete the poem I was preparing for this week's prompt, so I am going to pull something out of the archives. I know that it isn't very good, but I am working on keeping some sort of routine in my life no matter what.



Looking up at him from her makeshift sickbed
On their faded living-room couch
As he strode through the front door,
His arms filled with her favorite comfort foods
From the Asian market
(Egg rolls, shrimp fried rice, and Darjeeling tea),
She almost forgot that she hadn't loved him
On the day she agreed to marry him
Two years ago.
She wasn't sure even now
After all these months of fixing his meals
starching his uniforms
cleaning his house
And letting him brush her long midnight black hair
(Which soothed him late at night
When he was worried about bills),
What love really was
And whether she felt it for him;
But as she watched him
Standing in their tidy blue-and-white kitchen
The brow of his somewhat ordinary face
Furrowed intently
As he tried to remember how to brew the tea,
A warmth spread through her body
That no passion could induce
And she instinctively knew
That she was safe.
Certainly that was just as good as love,
Wasn't it?

--Dani Sanders, 01 October 1990
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