First Poem About My Marriage

To not forget, but not remember
Seemed the best strategy.
Nevertheless,
Memories came padding in
Like the plush footsteps of children
Awake in the night from too much dreaming.

The feel of your head
Resting on my hard stomach,
The evening coolness wrapping us
In a warm comforter
Like a mother bundling her baby.
Our son in the white kitchen highchair,
Me standing by the 1950s stove,
Frothing oil currents
Swirling around blackened potato islands.

Just out of curiosity,
I asked you if you still needed me
And you remained silent.

David W. Aronson