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  • The Poet's Wife
  • Michael Ranney

The poet favors shabby clothes,a vest strained with wrinkles,corduroy pants andlong-sleeved checkered shirtto complement his ragged graying beard.Beside him she knows she looks elegant,velvetly styled,never wondering what image they makesheltered beside each other.When he reads she watchesfrom the second row,seated sideways to scan his audience,to assist their responses,the snickers, groans and sighs,knowing the lines that cause the soundsshe's heard them so often before.He's writing all the time,even during their nights in bed,eyes spinning behind closed lids,poems gathering like holiday familiesinside his still silent head.She loves him for his words,for all the songs he sings,for the way his lines wrap her aroundlike the arms and legs of making love, [End Page 123] for the way he touches herhis fingers never leaving the page.Later wall leaning she watches himwork the celebratory crowd,index finger extendedfrom wine cupping right hand,holding forth on meter and tropesfor the knot of women who listen.Finally tired she nods onceand his observing eyesrise against his brows.Outside the ivied college buildingshe soundlessly finds his handto feel the man againbehind the clothes,beneath the words.Hands entwined and legs in rhythmthey drift away laughing togetherinto the well known texture of their life. [End Page 124]

Footnotes

This poem originally appeared in Red Cedar Review, Vol. 30 Iss. 1, 1993.

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