Saturday: A New Life

SATURDAY

I awoke to the thunder
of mammoth wheels on steel tracks,
and I greeted the gray dawn
through the slits in our shades
and my droopy lids.

You were still embracing
slumber,
breathing peacefully,
with your face buried Navaho-deep
in the pillow case,
purring like a lioness,
wrapped chestnut
in long wavy tresses.

You were probably
awake,
although you did not move,
nor open your eyes.
The cars in the street whined
rubber-wet,
pounding through the puddles.
A train's horn bleated
like a sorrowful animal
half a mile off,
wistful and lonesome.

My left hand rested
on my chest
outside the covers.
My new wedding band glistened
like a golden rope
in the half light,
and I smiled
at my good fortune.

The ceiling creaked
with the weight
of the three girls,
punctuated by the muffled crackle
of their various televisions,
barely audible
past the pebbled plaster.

Soon you would roll over
and greet me,
and kiss me,
and report on your last dream.

Love gathered
in the deep caverns
of my heart,
like a pulsating starfish,
radiating out
to my fingers,
and they ached
to touch
your flesh,
and the new day.


Glenn Buttkus May 1993