I found it. The One. The poem that I've loved since my senior year in high school, but could never recall it's name, author, or exact words. After much frustration, and much googling and reading, The One has been found.
It's such a personal favorite of mine that I'm not sure I even want to share it. I've been contemplating--for weeks--to share, or not to share. TODAY, 10 minutes ago in fact, I came to the conclusion that it is best to share.
This is about a husband and wife, narrated by view point of the child, now grown and looking back. Free verse, about normal everyday life, but with an intimate undertone.
It is the those simple things, those patterns and habits, which make us individualized and endearing to our loved ones. Those are the things that matter, those are the things which are truly romantic.
I could list all that I miss about Matt, but I'm not--it'll make me sad (I write as I cry, haha)--instead I'll look to our future: a future of everyday life.
Early in the Morning
by Li-Young Lee
While the long grain is softening
in the water, gurgling
over a low stove flame, before
the salted Winter Vegetable is sliced
for breakfast, before the birds,
my mother glides an ivory comb
through her hair, heavy
and black as calligrapher's ink.
She sits at the foot of the bed.
My father watches, listens for
the music of comb
against hair.
My mother combs,
pulls her hair back
tight, rolls it
around two fingers, pins it
in a bun to the back of her head.
For half a hundred years she has done this.
My father likes to see it like this.
He says it is kempt.
But I know
it is because of the way
my mother's hair falls
when he pulls the pins out.
Easily, like the curtains
when they untie them in the evening.
