Good day, happy at work even with the furniture out and about all over the place because of the flooding. Bluebonnets are popping up all over after last week's rain. The poetry prompt was to write an origin poem and I wrote about the origin of my marriage with Bob.
First time we met, at a party neither
of us planned to attend, we talked
nonstop five hours about books, music,
family, hopes, fears, hopes, life, death.
First time we met I was happily married,
weeks away from my second pregnancy,
deep in motherhood, grad school. You lived
with your Golden Retriever, worked, hiked, read.
First time we met I confided in a mutual friend
you were someone I could have married.
The day of my husband's funeral, our friend
shocked herself, told me you were still single.
First time we met, I didn't believe in fate,
destiny, soul mates. Twenty eight years
later, I nuzzle your familiar neck, thankful
mystery unfolds independent of belief.
Victoria Sullivan Hendricks, April 1, 2009