Poetry
Grand pas de deux
by Monica Hart
by Monica Hart
Without waking, he
makes room for me. I slide under his shoulder and hip as he relaxes onto me. I throw my leg over his leg wrestle with the blanket and drape my arm across his chest, right where it has landed for twenty-two years. Through all this wrestling and rearranging and settling in, he does not wake. He knows his partner. His hand rests on my thigh right where it has rested for twenty-two years. Without waking him, I breathe him in and out and I can sleep again. |
My son learned about voluntary and
involuntary muscles in science class. We talked about how lucky we are that some decisions are out of our hands: our hearts beat regardless of what we do. For twenty-two years, this man and I have rearranged and wrestled and settled in. We have always ended where we are now, intertwined, warm hand on cool thigh, cool hand on warm chest, heating and chilling our shared space, breathing each other’s air. The dance takes two. This particular dance takes twenty-two. |