Honeymoon sonnet

Honeymoon epiphany

Epiphanies

We come now to the winter of our years
(Where did the autumn with its pleasures go?)
Our roof will all too soon be cloaked with snow,
So, come, let’s stoke our fire against the fears.

It seems another life ago, my dear,
That full of grace you pilgrim sat aglow
Enkindled so this prodigal would know
That grace was free and grace was very near.

Midsummer’s eve brought more epiphanies
Of spotless bride adorned, redeemed, in white,
Too ill for customary liberties,
So wan, yet still for these sore eyes a sight.
Then! Over Lake Champlain the full moon sees
A railway sleeper car rock through the night.


(2013)

Notes:

When love is good and it lasts, it can be tempting to idealize its beginnings.

But, the very first time I saw my wife, she was glowing. I kid you not. Sitting in the second row of a darkened auditorium listening to the Chaplain of the U.S. Senate, there she was — surrounded by a golden aura.

At the time, I was a reporter for a small suburban weekly paper, and was there on assignment. I had a camera, but was so befuddled I failed to get the shot. (Of the Glowing Girl, that is.) You might argue I was imagining things, but I don’t think so. I’m not given to visions nor hallucinations. I’ve never witnessed anything like it before or since.

I kept my eye on her while I got my story. But at the end of the program, she went right up to the speaker. I figured she must be with the group of important people who had accompanied him from Washington, D.C.

So, I put The Glowing Girl out of mind and tried to forget about her.

Fortunately for me, she turned up again a couple of weeks later at church. It turns out she was a friend of a friend, who introduced us and immediately left us alone. I didn’t let her get away a second time.

I think the whole experience was a special gift for a fellow a bit slow on the uptake, who needed a sign to notice a good thing right under my nose.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

We were married three years later at Midsummer. She was sick and only made it through the festivities with the help of cold medicine. The next morning we flew out of town to New York, and the very next night, took an overnight train to Montreal.

I’ve been a fan of railway travel ever since.

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Published by

Bobby Ball

I love poetry. But I'm picky. No one pays me to read and write poems. It's more of a labor of love. I guess that puts me in good company. This is a project to discover why some poems strike you deep, deep down, while others leave you cold. I've got some ideas, and I'm eager to learn. I'll show you some of mine. Maybe we'll learn something new.

2 thoughts on “Honeymoon sonnet”

  1. Several things—you guys are far too young to be thinking in terms of your winter years. Hell, at 76 I ‘m thinking I am too. I’m glad you explained the illness. And the rocking Pullman didn’t need any explanation. Usually when I hear “pilgrim”, John Wayne comes to mind. Now I’ll have another mind set. Thanks. And yes, grace is free.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Hi Paul. You can pack more into a few lines than just about anyone I know. Glad to hear you’re going by the old “70-is-the-new-40” philosophy. I was thinking of the actuarial tables that rather cruelly say that on average American humans have approximately four 20-year seasons. More or less, give or take. But, I am inspired by your sanguine outlook to be more optimistic. I always feel like I’m walking a fine line with my little explanatory notes. I don’t really like it when poets are so obscure that even with effort you can’t figure out what’s going on. But I don’t want be guilty of reducing the poem to an essay on “the meaning of the poem.” As I’ve mentioned before in the blog, no less than Basho and Kunitz have written narration to accompany some of their poems, so I’ve decided to muddle along hitting here and missing there, always trying to connect. Always good to hear from you! Keep thinking young.

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