The moments when

we sit on the porch and you look
sideways and I lean soft into
your hard and you let me as
clouds gather over top the ridge
and the garbage cans are lined up
back beside our garage door. The tick
clicking of the neighbour trimming his
side of the hedge and our lawn needing
cut and the sun pouring it’s gold onto
our bare toes. The bed rumpled and
the dog sprawled over it snoring and
another clean load wanting out of
the dishwasher. The last fragrant
fifteen minutes before the apricot pie says
it’s done and perches on back burner
stove top until some celebration
of this day occurs after supper and
we join together to open words
and taste day’s end. The parts in
my library novel that keep my throat
full and now prognosis isn’t good so
I cry over the sink while dishes drown
in bubbles. The moments between
until always when I wonder if you
really will come home from work
and say let’s go walk the dog and
we will do things until it’s time
for bed and give our bodies over
to long breaths until morning and
you tell me again how these
moments make a life.

Lesley-Anne Evans, SDG, 2012