How Love Works

The thing about packing up the contents of a house as you prepare to move is that it’s possible to stumble on things you forgot you have.  I recently stumbled on this poem, written for me by Steve.  I don’t recall when.  I posted this today, December 5th,  just before leaving our old home in Worthington, OH, where we raised our two teenagers, to drive to our new home in Iowa City, where we’ll settle in as empty nesters.  There, I’m sure we will find "the new green of fresh belief".   There we’re going to create magic. 

~ Connie

How Love Works

Sometimes if you’re lucky you get to write something
For someone you love. This is a magic circumstance.
Like going to the lakeshore and tossing in a feather and a stone.
The stone floats of course, and someone you haven’t seen in years
Turns up at your door–and the dear light of spring spins through the poplars
And the neighborhood is filled with the new green of fresh belief.
Birds are part of this. Victory tailed swallows and the marsh wren
And the happenstance birds without names, all stray
Into view though you weren’t searching for ideas
Or magic or forgetfulness —
Love without direction or sense –winged love
Stirred by impossible light.
Small things hove into sight. Wings. leaves. houses
Where once you were happy, will be
Then happy again
There at home in the lessons and days of love.

–for Connie

Author: stevekuusisto

Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University View all posts by stevekuusisto