(for my mother and father)
He remembers hearing the words,
“We are not couples that fight all
the time.” He looks at his wife, who
is not speaking to him. “We are
who we are.” And thinks to himself
that the sea is tired. Perhaps
as forlorn as he is. He’s a man in the garden. He imagines the sun
covering the dark water. Cold to the
touch. He wonders what the right
language of love is for winter guests.
How to make peace with his wife.
He wants to embrace her. Take her in his arms
as if she was a girl
again. Brush her hair out of her
face with his granadilla hands.
Forget that he is in the autumn
of his years. He wants to forget
that he used to do this for a living.
He wants to know if his unhappy
marriage is on the verge of cracking up. He wants to know
if she’s finally going to leave him.