New poems by Howard Nelson
"That's a nice picture
of us there on the shelf."
"That's not me. That's Dad."
I take it down and show it to her.
"Good looking couple," I say.
"Yes, I was a pretty bride,
and you were a good-looking guy.
There we are, looking forward
to a happy marriage,"
She catches herself.
"That's not you, is it?
That's your father.
You weren't
in the picture yet."
"I guess I should make a decision soon.
I need to decide where to go.
Will they let me stay the night here?"
"Sure, you have a room here,
right down the hall." "Really?"
"Yes, this is your home now.
You've lived here almost a year.
Everything's taken care of.
You can stay as long as you want."
"OK. That's good to know.
I guess I'll stay," and
she gives a little shrug,
a gesture she makes
quite frequently now.
"I'm glad you're on my team."
"OK--you just go with the flow."
"OK--that's what I'll do."
"I have to wait here
for Howie to come."
"That's me--I'm here
already! Who
did you think I was?"
She pauses. "You."
"Who's you?" "Well,
I don't know.
Howie, I guess."
But clearly she was
thinking of someone else.
I wonder who.
We go for a ride.
"I was just thinking,
I'm perfectly content.
There's no place
I would rather be
than taking a ride
with my son
on such a beautiful day,
looking at the houses
in this little town,
and driving out in the country
with the trees and the farms.
It's a beautiful world,
and we're lucky
to be living in it."