Black-Eyed Susan Acoustic Cafe

PICTURE IT!
 
He hobbles a bit.
So, does she.
His, a complaint of the hip;
Hers, the knee;
 
At the stump, in the meadow, now,
She rubs it.  Knee, torso, self,
The stump accepts.  She sits;
 
Behind her, from the stand
Of trees, back to a trunk,
He observes her.  Again,
She opens the handkerchief.
Again, the photograph, in it,
Held up.  Again, fingers remember.
Up, down, around, she puts
The index.  Behind it, she runs
The others.  All retrace runnels.
Again, these go.  Again, run through.
Again.  Again, each says, “Remember.
Remember.”  Again, tears flow;
 
‘Who,’ he wonders.  He, new, here;
Not a native.  Later, in house, in hers,
The neighbor between theirs — his, hers —
She tells him. “Husband, ” she says.
“The loss, sudden, tragic.” — “ When? ”—
“Months, ago, ” she says.  Both, in the kitchen;
She, by the calendar, “Now, let me count. ”
Fingers, curled.  Body, riddled with arthritis.
Brain, clicking.  Brain, sharp, smart,
Outdoes the fingers.  “Ten, ” she says.
“Miss him? I do.  Yes.  Miss them, together,
The two of them, more.  There, on the shade,
Missed, most.”;
 
“Yes, ” he says.  “Window, to window;
Kitchen, to kitchen, yours, about match.
 
Mine, set farther back.  The shades, I see — hers, yours,
Both the same.  Rollers: the shades on dowels; antiques,
Vintage, all older.” — “Me, too,” she laughs.  “I trot
Around between the house, the garden.”— “In time,
We join you.  Trot, too.  Crabby hip. Hers, a knee.
She rubbed it.” — “ Hers, yours, nothing ,” she says.
“ Keep fit.  Active.  Hers, the finicky knee, the knee,
She twisted. ” ;
 
— “ How ? ” — “Winter snow.  Him gone,
She shovels. Yours ? ” — “ Winter, too,”
He says. “ Framing up, outside, cold gripped it.”
— “You, she, young, yet.  She, middle-aged.  You ? ”
— “ Me, too. ” he says.  “ Just retired. ”
— “ What do you do ?  ” ;
 
“ Carpenter, by trade.  She ?” he asks. — “Teacher.
Just retired, too.  He, the year, before.  That, he had,
At least.  Administrator, he was.  Favored wood, though,
All kinds, over papers.  Used it to fix things.  Miss, that, too.
Things, need fixing, ” she says.  — “Will do.  Make a list, ”
He says;
 
“Thanks !  Oh ! The shade ! ”  — “Needs fixing ? ”— Laughing,
“In a sense, ” she says, “Yes. Miss the  picture, there.  Done,
By light,  within,  moon,  without: both, behind it, at night.  He,
She, before bed, with glasses, in hand ; with wine, within,
In silhouette, on the shade.  So, lit, the inks of each, there,
Distinct.  Shade, the yellow, round these, a halo.  The picture, there.
Picture it !  ” ;
 
Days, months, pass. In house, hers, Sundays, the three share a meal.
Each, a cook, each contributes.  “Tasty,” she, the teacher, tells him.
— “ Yours, too, ” he says.  — “ Who taught you ? ”— “ Wife, ”
He says. — “ She taught you, well, ” she, the elder, adds.
“ You cooked, too, then. ” — “ All of it, towards the end. ”
— “ Gone, months, or, years ? ” — “ Years, ” he says.  “ Four. ”
She, the elder, follows the plates.  His, the teacher’s, inch closer,
On the table.  This, true , of this, this, true, all told.
Events unfold —
 
She, the elder, asks, “ The railing for the staircase, from diningroom
To bedrooms, needs replacing.  One, new, maybe ? ” He made one.
He, she, the carpenter, the teacher install it.  “ A contribution
From jars, at home, ” she says.  Screws, in the hankie,
The photograph, he knew, not there.  She visits the stump, often.
Last, there, he saw this: the photograph go, from pocket,
To wallet.  Now, screws, in hand, in holes, she screws these, in.
“ Good, ” he says.  “ She taught me.  He taught you. ”
— “ True, ” she says;
 
— “Though, you, myself, distinctive, different, through us, ”
He says, “ each continues. ” — “ Yes. True, again, ”she says ;
 
Again, then, in the garden, minds meet. From she, the elder:
“ Hey, you, two.  For dessert tonight, cherries,
From the orchard ?  No fences: yours, mine, hers — ours —
You know, one. So, pick, pick, pick.”
Totes full, she, the teacher, asks him: “ A pie with these ?
She loves pies.  Pastry, filling, we divvy up.”
To coax a smile, he says, “ For crust, yours, a MUST. ”
For a smile, in turn, “ For filling, ” she says, “ yours,
Fulfilling. ” ;
 
Cherries do it.  A pair, cherries up, stems round the finger she dangles.
“ The years, ” he says, “ we pick these, now, two.  Both, of these,
The gem, of each, speak for me.  Marry me, ” he says.
— “ Cherries — rubies — the gems, I love.  You, with these;
You, too, I love, now.  Yes, ” she says.  He asks, “ We share, these,
Where ? Houses: yours, mine: we live, where ? ” — “ In mine, ”
She says.— “ Memories live, there, ” he says.— “ Mine, yours, ”
She says, “ once, there; from these, ours come.  Those, though,
With she, the elder ; now, in future, stay put. ”— “ The old,
The new, yes, ” he says, “ all do.” ;
 
So, Sundays, projects, harvests, for the three, stay the same.
Though, distinctive, different, much the same: the shade.
Now, she, the elder, content, again.
At night, again, the yellow, a halo round them ; he, she,
There, the silhouettes, now, the shade displays.  The picture
Prompts her.  She says, again, what she said: ‘ The picture,
There. PICTURE IT ! ’
  
Joanna Dicker-Bachman