Tennessee Twilight
Alfred Fournier
I’m tending weeds in the place he dreamed
we’d have, far from home. A modest piece
of wooded green, where we could be ourselves,
he’d say. It’s getting hot. The air is thick
with past decisions and the day etched out.
I’ve sorted through the papers now, the legal
work is done. No more long drives to doctors.
It’s mealtimes I dread. Shopping for one.
A question circles without rest: Who was I
before he came, tall and sweet? The night
we sat inside his Mercury and he
spilled over me, a saltwater shower,
until morning drowned us in the certainty
we’d be together for the rest of our lives.