for Mark, 20 years in
w&m ©2015 David M. Glasgow (ASCAP)
Monday I said, “I’m working late, but we’re out of Kleenex.
Could you maybe swing by the store?”
Tuesday I sneezed. Luckily there was still T.P. on the roll.
“How hard is it to think,” I wondered, “about your mucosal spouse?”
But I stopped myself mid-inhale, and I simply said again,
“Please buy Kleenex. Please.”
Wednesday I said, “Honey, the litter box needs attention.
Toby’s upstairs crossing his legs.”
Thursday, let’s say, Toby uncrossed them in just a big way.
“No, I’ll get it,” I thought, “as soon as I finish folding these clothes.”
But instead I glared at Toby, and I simply said again,
“Where’s the Scotchgard, dear?”
Words are cheap, and saying’s easy,
but hearing’s harder, and that’s what makes saying work:
Now and then, when hearing’s iffy,
the sayer needs to re-say the words that they said
until they’re heard.
And sometimes still it doesn’t hurt
to say again the things you said
to show you do still mean them.
Decades—plural—is how long ago I first said that you were
all I truly need you to be.
Three words. That’s all. Even if nothing else makes it through to you,
Even when I’m away, or angry, or just too “something” to talk,
then I hope that you’ll remember all the times you’ve heard me say
“I love you.”
Here’s another: I love you.
I love you.