After the first astounding rush,
after the weeks at the lake,
the crystal, the clouds, the water lapping the rocks,
the snow breaking under our boots like skin,
& the long mornings in bed. . .
After the tangos in the kitchen,
& our eyes fixed on each other at dinner,
as if we would eat with our lids,
as if we would swallow each other. . .
I find you still
here beside me in bed,
(while my pen scratches the pad
& your skin glows as you read)
& my whole life so mellowed & changed
that at times I cannot remember
the crimp in my heart that brought me to you,
the pain of a marriage like an old ache,
a husband like an arthritic knuckle.
Here, living with you,
love is still the only subject that matters.
I open to you like a flowering wound,
or a trough in the sea filled with dreaming fish,
or a steaming chasm of earth
split by a major quake.
You changed the topography.
Where valleys were,
there are now mountains.
Where deserts were,
there now are seas.
We rub each other,
but we do not wear away.
The sand gets finer
& our skins turn silk
after the weeks at the lake,
the crystal, the clouds, the water lapping the rocks,
the snow breaking under our boots like skin,
& the long mornings in bed. . .
After the tangos in the kitchen,
& our eyes fixed on each other at dinner,
as if we would eat with our lids,
as if we would swallow each other. . .
I find you still
here beside me in bed,
(while my pen scratches the pad
& your skin glows as you read)
& my whole life so mellowed & changed
that at times I cannot remember
the crimp in my heart that brought me to you,
the pain of a marriage like an old ache,
a husband like an arthritic knuckle.
Here, living with you,
love is still the only subject that matters.
I open to you like a flowering wound,
or a trough in the sea filled with dreaming fish,
or a steaming chasm of earth
split by a major quake.
You changed the topography.
Where valleys were,
there are now mountains.
Where deserts were,
there now are seas.
We rub each other,
but we do not wear away.
The sand gets finer
& our skins turn silk
Commentary
I believe that this poem is basically explaining how the author misses her husband. The tittle could signified how after the earthquake she miss her husband. And being there at her home she is being remind consentaly about him. Another meaning I would get from stanza 5 and 6 was that this other person had came to her life and was a huge difference. Made her way of living and seeing life now different. The line " our skin turns silk" would be an example of foreshadowing. Overall the last stanza would be how they are getting old and but they still seem to together. The tone of this poem would be loving.
I totally agree with your interpretation. You can tell she misses her husband. I also agree with the fact that she is reminiscing about how she misses him after the earthquake occurred. The theme of this poem would definitely be remembrance. She uses similes such as "I open to you like a flowering wound." She uses figurative language to describe exactly how she feels. There is an irregular end rhyme as the rhyme scheme. I enjoyed reading this poem.
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