The Day After Christmas

I spent half an hour in the garage this afternoon,
Breaking down boxes from yesterday's Christmas.
I remembered the joy of each unwrapping,
As corrugated cardboard collapsed and snapped in two.
My heart, unguarded after the high-spirited holiday,
Broke more easily than usual today.

Styrofoam planks cracked with a pop
That echoed like gunfire.
White pellets stuck to my clothes.

You carefully opened the door from the laundry,
And helped me fill plastic trash bags with debris.
As you tenderly brushed Styrofoam snowflakes
From my black jeans,
I knew I would be alright.

Then we swept up shards of cardboard
Until the floor was as clean
As the day we moved in.

Small Stone #3: Marriage

Marriage

We can't bear to close the day.
Our writers' hearts and lives entwine -- he at his notebook, I at my computer:
Shared solitudes.