Sunday Evening

(Poem by Wendy Howe )

This is how we appear in the window
before the street lamp and tree;

woman sewing a button
on a shirt sleeve, man firmly holding her chair.

He knows its wooden leg
can wobble slightly and should be repaired;

but tonight, one partner will mend,
change a troublesome detail, nothing more.

The other will stand protective
of what he loves. Tools are hearthside

yet he prefers
not to nail in or twist around

any issue that might disturb
the twilight hour.

So we remain like this,
framed in silence.

I stitch a silver moon
on your linen cuff.

It will shine before the sun
when you ride the 4 a.m.

into work, body tuned precisely
to clock gears and train wheels.

Now, you breathe easy --
tall lover whose cologne

drifts through my hair,
sandalwood crowned

with cedar leaf, some pine.
I let it become

the scent of peace
and Sunday evening.
© 2011, Wendy Howe. E-mail.

To know more  about this poem,   about Wendy Howe

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