Shoveling Out

I knew the situation had grown dire when Elvis vanished
in a pile of white fluff and I raced through the neighborhood
shouting for him to get back in the house.
Crazy Mr. Bennett actually came over thinking we were housing
that hip shaking fiend, and I had to explain how I let you
name our dog after a Costello (not a Presley)
because names are important to you; you’ve always been weighed down
by the irony of being an Atheist named Christian.

We’ve let the snow from four or five storms pool in our driveway.
Domesticity isn’t quite our forte.  Our gutters are packed with leaves,
and distended by icicles but we’re both afraid
of heights and we don’t own a ladder.  I’m carving a path for mail carriers
and school children when you emerge from the warmth within
teasing that I shouldn’t be doing a man’s job.

The playful jibe at my feminist sensibilities as tired as the
hydrangeas I forgot to water back when our
little life was new and exciting, the magical mystery
before we settled into routines, working my insomnia
around your strict ten o’clock bedtime. Before, when there were little
quirks and surprises to discover:
a pair of glasses you never wear, an old baseball trophy.

Elvis howls at the door, enraged to be left inside, left out.
You stay in the cold while I shovel ancient snow and we laugh
about silly things, not work or school or electricity bills.  Here on the
frozen tundra, we’re snapshots of our true selves
removed from grown-up demands.

We’re improv professionals, looking for stars in champagne bubbles.
Skilled in the ways of fictions, we compose truths.  But we
grew complacent, buried under the weight of weathered storms.
Elvis whines until we retreat indoors, an old home made new.


5 thoughts on “Shoveling Out

  1. Lydia Lydia Lydia. Hi. I love you. And your words – I also love your words very much. You tug at my heartstriiiiings. My thoughts are all jumbled, but… I like the thought of making things new. Threading the extraordinary through the forever ordinary – because this is how it happens, yes? Sometimes. Maybe there are times of Great Revelation and Reveling, but finding meaning in the everyday is – well, important in itself. Because it’s what we *have*. The everyday. The sad. The remembering. In my experience/head, the Befores are blurred and skewed to the point that I cannot fathom them – I find pieces of the Befores (childhood, last August, what-have-you) and cannot bring them to clarity.

    Rambling. Wooo. I love you. Your words are my favorite, and YOU are my favoritest.

  2. I love this very much. There is so much truth in it. I relate completely. Over the past year or so I’ve been making a conscious effort not to let grown-up cares and worries and responsibilities bear too much of an effect on my personality or relationships and I’ve noticed a positive change for sure–Randall and I definitely laugh and joke around and act sillier than we used to and it definitely has made an old home feel new :)

    • Oh, MegStar, I love you very much. I’m so glad you’ve figured out how to be happy and away from that HAVE PLANS AND DO GREAT THINGS pressure. I don’t think you can do great things if you’re pressuring yourself like that. You are a great thing. I’m so glad you exist.

Talk About It

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s