Psalms

I am privileged in my love for you.

To see you stirring a pot at the stove,

to watch you greet someone, to see your shoulders

and spine and arms curve down to stroke

the uplifted face of your cat is a blessing.

Your stories are my blood. Your tears 

and your smiles and your easy laugh are

my wine. The skills of your hands:

I watch you braid hair, chop parsley,

adjust the needle above the record, press

the front of your dress down taut against your belly.

I knew you from the tomes of my childhood,

knew immediately your grace and beauty

and cunning and strength. I see you now,

battered princess, as the benediction of us all:

your quiet ways and brilliant thoughts 

will keep us all from the lurking edge.