At eighteen we decided to seal the deal
with a license, stifle the gossip
about living in sin, and cohabit
conventionally. I remember my dad’s
terse reaction, pause and expression . . .
which I understand better today.
He knew I’d made up my mind, but
had to say, “You know you’re promising
the rest of your life to that girl?”
I knew the rest of my life was now.
It still is. I guess we both believed
we could keep that promise . . .
maybe that’s what love is
because I don’t really know
what love is, but then I don’t think
I really know anything, really,
except what I think I know. And
I’m willing to let go of all of it,
every-one-thing I think I know,
except those I tell myself I love.
Yes, I believe we are lucky, but
I’m the first to proclaim
good luck is the result of hard work . . .
though everyone knows life isn’t
always a matter of luck or choice,
choice is all we can control . . . because
sometimes love flies out the window.
We both chose to live dawn to dusk,
this carnal dream of each other
together close to the ground
each day, our youthful lust
bound to a primitive survival-trust,
base as the behavior of wolves.
—for Sam and Cache
October 14, 2017