Love Story

by Thomas Davis

For Ethel

The golden eagle, dark brown against deep blue of late spring sky,
Hovered, wings adjusting to wind currents.
In the cool canyon, beneath the ancient cottonwood tree
With its streaked white trunk,
Beside the stream shrinking from spring’s fullness,
We sat next to our picnic blanket.
The eagle dipped, then soared into a great arc
Toward, then over, sandstone canyon walls
Where years of rain had flowed over the canyon rim
And stained rock as it fell to where it fed the stream below.
That day was not our beginning.
Our beginning was in letters chained from Wisconsin to Colorado
As never-met poets began to explore what might come to be.

Where my poetry raged with fumbling working toward form,
Your poetry burned on the page,
Words boiled into images.
But in Unaweep Canyon on a day that seemed like it should last forever
We talked and began weaving invisible bonds
That show no signs of weakening
As we leave middle age and become elders
Visited by the pains of age and wear of time.
The moments of our lives together tremble,
Like the golden eagle’s wings:

Days spent learning the intensity of each other
As we walked Orchard Mesa’s huddled foothills,
The moon rising so deep an orange it was almost red,
Growing larger and larger
As it labored over the Prussian blue rim of Grand Mesa;
Tears coming to your eyes when you singed
The wedding dress you worked weeks to make
On the night before our wedding;
The long drive to Washington State’s Anacortes Island,
Possessions piled on top of an old car,
As we searched for life–
And then the even longer drive to Wisconsin
As we traveled over mountains,
Through orchards and fields of crops, deep into forests, across plains
Until we came, at last, to Lake Superior shining sunlight.

Then the birth of Sonja, Mary, and Kevin.
Tense waiting at hospitals
Until finally the joy of new life explodes;
The loneliness of a hospital room at night
While Mary struggles for breath inside a clear plastic bubble
As doctors fight an illness that seems to last forever;
The day when Kevin convulses
As doctors and nurses rush into his room
And force us into the hallway scared at not understanding.
Days spent walking to Lake Winnebago
Dragging a red wagon behind us
With Sonja talking ceaselessly while one,
Then the other, carries Mary in our arms.
The years of school and the search for a teaching job
Until, at last, we end up in a small Midwestern town
Working in an alternative school on the Menominee Reservation.

Life fills up with the details of living,
Moments of emotion:
Joy, anger, frustration, desperation, hope, sadness, grief, laughter,
A flowing that stretches into a landscape of bends and rocks and hills.

When we moved to Wisconsin Dells into the Gold Mine House
With its basement field stone floor and huge fireplaces,
Bald eagles sat with white heads and brown backs and breasts
Nearly every morning during winter and spring
In trees along the Wisconsin River,
Snow falling as one or another took wing off its pine perch
And soared into cold to look for open water.

A poem, or a hundred poems, cannot give life to either life or love.
Marriage begins, and time passes;
Children are born, and time passes;
Jobs are won or lost, and time passes;
Daughters and a son run through a million minutes
Of motion and meaning, and time passes;
Grandchildren are born and become blessings, and time passes…

Our lives spark against each other,
Spiraling out like skiers I remember one night in Aspen, Colorado
Who came down black mountains slopes
Carrying torches that glided and wove,
Suspended high above where I was standing, in the night sky.

And inside the passing of time a golden eagle still hovers above us
Beside a small stream
That sings as it flows over small shelves of sandstone
Until one morning we wake, and you grind fair trade coffee beans,
And we sit before a fire in the fireplace in New Mexico
That you say is good for our souls,
And we deal with the pains in your knee and my back,

And we try to understand each other
In the way we have always tried to understand each other,
Braiding our lives through moments when we are together.

10 Comments

Filed under Poetry, Thomas Davis

10 responses to “Love Story

  1. Caddo Veil

    Such hushed beauty–an exquisite, and enviable Love Story. You are both blessed, even in the tragedies that are life.

  2. Though you are braided…you must still try to understand each other…though you are so intimately united, you are still, somehow, a mystery to one another. I loved reading this poem and especially like the last three lines:
    And we try to understand each other
    In the way we have always tried to understand each other,
    Braiding our lives through moments when we are together.

    Beautiful.

  3. eremophila

    Breathtakingly beautiful.

  4. Ina

    Hi Thomas and Ethel, what a wonderful memory of your relationship together, the romance and the love, the experiences of life, beautiful 🙂

  5. Wow, what a description of life-altering events, with the eagle soaring across the page to signal your ups and downs. Thank-you for such a wonderful read.

  6. Julie Catherine

    Thomas, the sheer beauty of your lines, of your life with your lovely Ethel, brought tears to my eyes. Although I’ve wept hundreds of tears these past few days, these were tears of gladness – that through your times of joy and sadness, the times of your lives, there has always been love and understanding, an intertwining of the heart and soul that makes you the wonderful couple that you are. God bless you and keep you close always, as you are both in all our hearts. ~ Love, Julie xoxox

  7. This is a deeply moving love story Thomas. It is a wonderful tribute to Ethel and to your lives together, I love the way you have treasured special moments.
    “And inside the passing of time a golden eagle still hovers above us
    Beside a small stream
    That sings as it flows over small shelves of sandstone”
    The whole poem flows with music, light and love.

  8. A grand sharing of openness reminding in form and emotion if not of content of some of Ginsberg. I feel humbled to be allowed to be shown all this.

  9. extrasimile

    But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
    All losses are restored, and sorrows end.

    Yes, Thomas, this is a love story. But I can’t get out my head when I read this poem (which I have several times) the word ‘courage’. How much courage we need to live this life. I see it here.

  10. sonjabingen

    Your grandson William does the same thing…takes endlessly and never ceases!

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