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She
Is...
She is afraid of the unexpected,
of life, for life leads only one direction --
A hearse and a cemetery.
He eats life whole,
a pomegranate
of tiny seeds and red, sticky juice
smeared on his uneven teeth.
She looks ahead,
plans each move,
keeps drawers of coupons and saves
money in exchange for time.
He lives for the
day, present tense,
the future a foreign invader to repel.
His mind is disheveled as his room.
She loves without
believing she is lovely;
her reflection in water startles her,
as does water’s cool touch upon her skin.
He is a rugged individual,
filled with the pus of sin and pride
But in love with God, and life, and her.
She is a “nice
Catholic girl,”
filled with fear of herself and love’s risk
but in love with Christ, and right, and him.
He is...
She is...
They are.
I
trace myself
in the silhouette of your face,
a featureless “other”
until your otherness
restores me to
myself.
Miracle.
This oneness made
of two
by Three.
Jon Trott
for Carol on Valentine’s Day, 1998
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