Missing

Yesterday she drove me to-and-from the airport, so that I could catch a round-trip flight to interview a wonderful couple for a book. We got up late today, and I mixed her eggs and potatoes on a plate–the way I did when she was 17.

We lived in a one room studio then, and our “first times” are unforgettable: the first time waking up together; the first time filling a shopping cart at Albertsons; the first time (of many) repairing our ‘64 International pickup; the first time turning out the lights for the night.

First days, first weeks, first years and decades pass–and now we’re in our sixties.

I could miss this first “girl” that I ever kissed. 

She could miss this “boy” she first loved.

Ahead of us frantic clouds of youth are graying–

After verbal fisticuffs and a thousand times making up,

Memories turn to touch, and we feel closer within a kiss.

Grousing over toilet seats and the thermostat,

Opinions on how to fry an egg…

I know that my girl hasn’t gone away, and her boy isn’t missing at all.

Only the uncertainties about each other have vanished,

And as days, weeks, years, and decades pass– eternity comes.

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