Flaws

During this COVID lockdown I’ve resorted to downsizing

and I came across a felt box with a hundred-dollar price tag.

What was inside brought tears to my eyes, as I recalled

our 50^th anniversary and the unused inscribed champagne flutes

still neatly wrapped in tissue paper alongside a serving set.

Like our lives, so much unused: time, laughter, whispers, hugs.

And now, ten years later and her gone five, one flute is broken.

My mind goes back to 1961 when I bought our first house

and in my gazillion repairs took a hammer and chisel

to a rusted toilet seat bolt and broke the water canal.

With no money for a new one, a tube of Liquid Glass repaired it,

not only for the meanwhile but for the next 18 years.

Now an Amazon search finds a similar glue and I wonder

if mending the flute might somehow mend the memories

of morphine and Halcion and dementia, three thieves of love,

so I can think of camper trips, barefoot walks in the sand,

Christmas dinners, the sounds of sweet jazz on the stereo,

dancing at the Ron Rob, and breakfasts at Zucky’s at two a.m.

Will I then remember how we raised five children

and how she looked at me to make me king and strong?

Sitting here alone now that is what I miss….her eyes,

those honest loving eyes that pierced my soul, saw my flaws

and loved me anyway, letting me share her journey –

until she died – and left me as half of what was whole.

But outside the birds are singing and the sky is blue

And for now that has to be enough.

Some flaws just can’t be fixed.