Wednesday 13 August 2014
To my husband Mark, who is currently trying not to nod off in work, having minded our poor sick baby all night in one room while I minded the poor sick toddler in another. And then we swopped. Some day my love, we'll sleep in the same bed, have a lie in, have breakfast in bed, have time to chat. Probably after the boys turn thirty.
I'm sorry that I haven't been in touch
I see you every day, morning and night
so why write? well, our time is short
I seem to say hello, goodbye and sometimes
in between, a hurried I love you
but oh! it's not enough, my dear.
Here in my head we talk all the time
like we did when we were leisure rich.
I itch to tell you all the details of my day
and every way in which you touched them,
lightened them, help me carry the load.
Is there room
for love letters of the old type, the ones
that fill the spaces in a busy life? Recount
the dreams and hopes and fears of every day
renew the links that bind us to our life
and say, I would not live any other story
walk any other path, fight for any other cause
but you? You are my star, my stone, my roots
and all there is to praise in heaven or on earth.
You may not know this but it's written there,
in shopping lists and texts about dinner -
whenever you read between the lines, it's there.