Skip to main content

For My Husband

Sometimes the days are so long

and the chaos of life 

so distracting

that I forget to say the

things that matter.

Things like...

I love you,

I see you,

and...

I haven't forgotten.


No, I haven't forgotten

how you made me feel

    that night,

under the moon.

I still remember the

completeness of your

arms around me.


I didn't forget our first kiss

         or

all the reasons 

I fell in love with 

your soul.

Your kindness,

the way your love

pulled me into safety

and salvaged what

was left of my shattered

heart.


They say bones are stronger

after they have

been broken.

Love is the same,

    I think.

And so, husband, know this:

 from the 

scars of my brokenness

I love you.


And even when I forget 

to tell you,

    always 

            remember.


Comments

  1. I love this and can hear the vulnerability in your voice. I hoped you showed him the poem. It might inspire me to do the same for my husband. Thanks for sharing something so personal.

    ReplyDelete
  2. This is so warm and full of love without being cheesy or mushy! My husband would faint with shock if I wrote him something like this! :D

    ReplyDelete
  3. Just beautiful. Such careful word choice and placement "on the page." I'm sorry for the sadness you allude to...it is very present in this poem.

    ReplyDelete
  4. So sweet and lovely. I hadn't ever thought about the connection of bones breaking to become stronger as a parallel to broken-ness in ourselves strengthening our love. It's a beautiful idea and I think your husband knows. Thanks for sharing your poem.

    ReplyDelete
  5. I hope you shared this with your hubby, Melissa. It's a stunning work of art.

    ReplyDelete
  6. This is such a sweet tribute to your husband. Thank you for sharing your vulnerability!

    ReplyDelete
  7. I have all the feels with this one. My mother and poet is a poet again! All my atoms...

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Best of Intentions

 I was so excited when I was invited by my colleague to do this month of writing. I was amped and ready and full of ideas. I guess now might be the time to mention that I haven't written anything--on paper anyway--since Thursday. I had the best of intentions. Don't I always? So here I am, 5 days late, writing something. The phrase "the best of intentions" kept bouncing around my head this morning. I have decided that it might be the theme to my adult life. My house is halfway clean. I made dinner 3 out of 5 planned nights. My daughter usually brushes her teeth at night. All these things begin and end with the best of intentions . I think where I feel this most intensely right now is in my role as mother. My children are so many things to me--the first of which are miracles. My son entered my orbit after years of trying to conceive and a failed adoption. When his birth mother handed him to me, my world changed. My daughter, born almost 10 years later, was the result of

On Tribes and Tribalism

 Have you seen that shirt that all the "boss babes" 🙄 sell on Facebook? The one that says, "My Tribe" or "Find your tribe, love them hard." There are many iterations. A version of it has made its way around Instagram as one of those inspirational text-images people love so much. You know, the one with arrows and feathers and cool, scripty font. You've seen it--super boho and trendy. Can I tell you something? I hate this shirt. I hate this meme. I hate the word tribe . It always irks me. I wish it didn't, but it does. Yes, I dislike the cultural appropriation, but, if I am being honest, I really hate it for one, big selfish reason: I don't have a tribe. I don't really have "people." No close knit group of gal-pals that I drink wine with or talk to daily. I don't have a group text thread that blows up my phone all day simultaneously annoying and entertaining me. I don't have this. I never have. I think I have always been t

Unpopular Opinion: Grades shouldn't be punitive

My voice cracks a little every time I tell someone I have been an educator for 21 years. Ouch. How is that possible? It feels like yesterday that I was hired on a "certification waiver" at the age off 22 with zero idea of what I was going to be doing as a teacher. But here I am, fluorescent light buzzing above me at 8 am on a Tuesday morning--my coffee tumbler empty. I'd like to think I am still much the same as I was back then...spunky, tough, opinionated, caring. Yet, I know a great deal of who I am as a teacher has changed. My practices, my philosophies...like me as a human, they too have grown and evolved. Thank goodness , I think to myself. Because for so long, I meant well, but I think I did things that weren't really best for kids. I feel a pang of guilt when I remember this. No, I never cursed at a kid or intentionally hurt anyone--nothing like that, but I did do something that I truly believe is not what's best for kid:. I gave them zeroes when they didn&