By Christine Swanberg
Author and Poet
Here is a poem for Valentine’s Day that celebrates marriage — long-term marriage.
The Rings of Saturn
After seeing the rings of Saturn through binoculars
from a balmy bluff in Indian Summer,
the Milky Way’s vast sweep of stars and nebulae,
the dusky dome where no city lights intrude,
after dreaming that we skated on the rings
of Saturn, red and black ice,
the celestial overpass, where no one honks;
in that unencumbered silence, it is enough
to wake, blue and ornery,
forget our daily affirmations,
have a second cup of hot, black coffee
out of the old, wheel-thrown ringed mug.
It is enough to iron in the cold basement,
spray starch on cotton, glide through domestic wrinkles,
your bleached white shirt which I prepare for you
like bread, over and over.
It is enough to fold white underwear,
warm and soft as dough —
this private ritual for nearly 40 years,
for better or for worse.
Well, it’s mostly better, isn’t it?
We grow old skating under Saturn,
making the most of our blue, imperfect planet.
Voyagers 1 and 2. Yet, in these rings of years
we keep the fire of a life imagined well.
The future swells like steam from coffee mugs.
Our old wedding bands with gold and silver strata
carve their callous rings around our fingers.
First published in Poetswest, then in Who Walks Among the Trees with Charity (Wind Publications) and The Red Lacquer Room.
From the Feb. 8-14, 2012, issue