“Paris, 2003” by Susan Hayden

for Chris

Flushed with the energy of art and alliance,
the rocket science of materia prima,
he takes me by the hand to wisteria and secrets,
steals my breath and kisses me
like I’m his new mistress, not his old wife.

This is our life and love is earned,
sealed with an alchemist’s loyalty
and candle wax
from sticky long nights of burning.

Singular as a field holler,
a worn-out blues tune written for us alone
yet universal in skin and bone;

his attendance, his inscription,
a hermetic cabinet of curiosities

called home.

The Boulevard glows with our footprints,
stable and so slippery.
Walking on ice has never been this easy.
Hang on.
Husband, man of the house, best friend.
Any minute this could end.

Susan Hayden

© 2011