Morning Memories

On a summer afternoon, widows open, and
fresh air filing the room after the good rain.
you asked me, "How will you remember me?"
I recall my answer, and if asked today I would
say about the same thing, "With every breath."
Because you insisted on a specific statement,
and after thinking on it, I said, "Our Mornings."

For it was on mornings when we were fresh,
willing to listen in the comfort of each other,
without make up or make believe in talking.
Articulating softly and sincerely giving the
other parts of self through a respected heart.
It was in the mornings we were cautious of
habits less admired and to get out of hand.

Back with me this moment is your smiling and
nodding reply that I had said the right thing.
You added some delicious ingredients to the
mix of conversation which I hear in re-runs
of aloneness on mornings, but literal recall
never interested me, so I toss it all around
and let it come back, saying, "I love you."


F William Broome 2008