Her Third Date After a Twenty-Five Year Marriage
She says, “Look. The rain’s harder now.”
I say, “Yes, but the theater’s close.”
She thumbs a path across
her melting glass.
Her daughter in third-year law.
Her granddaughter a swan.
When did I say I believed
in anyone’s tomorrow?
Her cupped hands; lines
connect, curve, cross,
predict nothing. She stares
into the passing moment.
“I never thought I’d be this person,”
she says, “never this alone.
I’m afraid sometimes, though
it’s nice not to be second guessed.”
My bedroom a chaos of shadows.
She’s unsure what comes next.
Then her legs clamp my hips,
and her mouth finds my neck.Read more "Douglas Collura – Her Third Date After a Twenty-Five Year Marriage"