marriage

How Can I Count the Ways?

When grandson scrapes his leg on a barbed wire fence,

love smells like blood and alcohol and two Sponge Bob

bandages used to gently cover the cut and calm his fears.

 

When my sisters and I return from our mother's funeral,

loves sounds like the twenty-four cannonballs you make

into the neighbor's backyard pool and the squeal of

our children's laughter.

 

Love feels like crossing a marathon finish line

for the first time. Sore, exhausted, exquistely happy,

and seeing in your face the reality of a piggy-back ride

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