from Wedlock Sunday and other poems by Gerald Locklin

Wedlock Sunday

She is working in the garden,
facing away from me,
trimming the bougainvillea,
still trim herself and youthful,
relaxed and free of cares,
doing something she enjoys,
something that she has always enjoyed.
and having lost all conception of
the passing of the hours,

and i feel a tenderness for her
that i may never have felt during
the selfish passion of youthful manhood,

and i wish the bitterness that
have more than merely punctuated
our thirty years together
could be magically obliterated
(which will never happen-let’s
not kid ourselves-but perhaps for the
rest of this afternoon and evening
they will be.)

i resolve to do and say
only kindness to her
over dinner and in front of
the pbs mystery that we’ve been following

and not to react to
any sarcasms or schemes
she may slip into out of habit, hunger,
merlot, tiredness, or contemplation of
the work week’s rattling hours
of third graders, parents, colleagues,
homework, grades, and art projects,

lying once again in wait for her.


Richard Diebenkorn: Cityscape 1, 1963

a city is what the countryside became,
the colors (grass and soil and sky and
water) first are drained and then restored.
the contours (bunker hill, l.a. river,
mountains, valleys, beaches} survive as
architecture. painting becomes photography
and returns to painting. humans inhabit where
animals once did, and then the animals inhabit
the humans. we were l.a’s (to paraphrase
jack frost, the pumpkin king) before l.a. was
ours. a field a roof: to a bird it’s all a
landing strip. what a tag-team god and darwin
would have made: both took the long view.

© Gerald Locklin

published by  Nerve Cowboy/Liquid Paper Press


2 Responses to “from Wedlock Sunday and other poems by Gerald Locklin”

  1. Two more poems I really like, especially the first one. Thanks for running this feature, Scot. Great idea.

  2. wedlock sunday is paramount of love

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