A blanket we shared

Misery was a blanket we shared -- though why

we huddled so long

underneath it, as if to stay warm

with this rough thing we had made together,

I do not know.

We have that cruelty of the young,

that impatience of youth

with age's creaking steps,

the carelessness which presumes

all will be forgiven,

all will be recovered ---

that swift, firm health

of body and mind that shakes off

the staying, shaking hand

and trembling voice that

whispers

we too will regret.

And also with you.

I pitied you --

your awkwardness,

your plainness,

your cat sweaters.

Middle aged, overweight, and single,

I judged you deserving

of the special censure of my sympathy.

I pitied that you came into the church alone,

Sunday after Sunday,

though so did I.

And when you sat down in the pew next to me,

I admit

that I disliked to be paired with you,

and pity

admixed with distain

was all I offered.

And that is why

when you

(listening to the voice at the altar) turned

and offered me in return

the sign of Christ’s peace,

I knew

that I had been right

to think we were not equals.

The Swimmer.

She sleeps with one arm flung over her head, like a swimmer mid-stroke. At 22, she doesn’t know where she is headed; she only knows she wants to get there fast, freestyle.