Thirty-nine years, and I’m only just
coming to know you.
Fair enough to say I’m only just
coming to know myself
Before that, we were playing house,
impressing ourselves
with all that we knew,
many times confident,
many times feeling adrift
And then the storms came,
and for years, we were soldiering through,
pulling together but feeling alone,
traversing aloneness together
Now there is now, and I hesitate
to say too much. There is wonder
in what we are living out,
day after day, and there’s promise,
and the impulse to keep the page
open, and empty,
until it is written each day.
©Wendy Mulhern
September 25, 2021
