An Open Letter

This was written thirty-five years ago—a few months short of our first anniversary.  I copied it over on our marriage announcement in 2004 when gay marriage became possible in Massachusetts. Now for our thirty-fifth anniversary I am once again printing this poem. 

Of a Little Thing

                                 Wherever you go, I shall go

                                 Wherever you live, I shall live

                                 Your people will be my people

                                  And your God will be my God

                                         Ruth 1:16

We sit at the kitchen table

I with my feet on the chair

You with a napkin full of peanuts

Juice glasses filled with spring water

grow tepid while we talk

“How was your day.?”

And you tell me the latest crisis

while peanut shells pile higher

“How was your day?”

I tell you how cold it was on bus duty

and my plans to keep warm

We plan an ideal outfit:

sheep lined earmuffs,

goose down from neck to ankles,

battery operated socks.

I pour more spring water,

take out a half-done Sunday crossword,

move my chair so we both can see

The erasable pen is easier

than the ink scrawl over ink

I go too fast you say

You sometimes guess, I say

I love you, I say

I know, you say