From September 2016.
Woman Well Past Forty
Woman well past forty,
I love you like those cool
before the sun becomes
rude in its insistence.
I love you like the reddening leaves
of the trees I call by the names
of the churches they stand next to:
the St Agnes tree, the Unitarian tree.
I love you as tired bones love rest
at the end of a long hard day.
I love you like pizza and ravioli.
I love you like Sunday dinner
with satisfying cheap red wine.
Like Van Morrison's "Moondance."
Like the Proclaimers.
Like those yesterdays
whose tomorrows were always better.
Like coffee in pajamas
on the porch at first frost.
Like breakfast eggs
I love you like the foreseeable surprise
of November’s first snowfall.
Like the clamor of the city
that hushes to something like awe
every Christmas Eve.
Like Dylan Thomas.
Like Trappist monasteries.
Like a deep and holy sorrow.
make room for me.
I'll be a good and gentle-tempered guest.
I'll help with the housework.
I'll do the dishes.
I'll make you a cup of hot chocolate.
Poetry by Thomas DeFreitas
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Written on 2018-10-14 at 08:24
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