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Missing Passenger
Vows taken on a crisp Saturday afternoon in September,
You wore a velveteen black suit, and me and my cream colored lace,
We swirled through the park like doves in flight,
Everything was oh...so right!
That first year, you held me in the rocking chair your mother gave us,
No arms had ever given me such peace and comfort,
Your gentle kisses to my neck and ears,
Three long blissful and beautiful years before our first born.
Then the security of all we could have asked for,
The nights of laughter and after dinner rides to the custard stand,
You in your jovial disposition and me with my coy school-like charm,
And then home, to snuggle together on the couch.
The tenth year was busier after our daughter was born,
I could not have chosen a better father for our children,
But the rocking chair needed some repair,
I missed our snuggles we used to share in the days of old.
You always made a point of reminding me about how you loved those days,
I'd kid you about your extra pounds ruining the dowels under the seat,
But in our own way, the memory savored, lasted into our 25th anniversary,
Still, every few months I would beg you to fix it.
Now that the children are grown and come to visit,
I sometimes tell them how you used to hold me in that rocker,
They smile with the same tenderness back at me,
And I see your twenty year old charm in their eyes again.
One day, a few months after the funeral,
I took a seat alone in the chair when I came home,
Rickety now, the wood is dried and brittle,
I hardly can imagine those days were real.
The days are getting longer, it seems, and many times I wonder
Where you are, maybe sitting on a crescent moon, gazing at the stars,
I have gained so many beautiful memories from the life we shared,
And I still wish you'd fix this rocking chair.
10:19 PM 4/28/2013 ©
