The words 'we could ', poignantly and beautifully left in isolation, are genius. Leaving unsaid the possibility, leaving unsaid the let down. Perhaps the best two words there are to sum up a relationship, that always could, and always might not. I'm beside myself waiting till The Familiarity is published and I can buy it. I need it in my life and on my bookshelf. It's particularly poignant a read as I think my husband and I aren't falling back in love but are heading towards separation. So, for me, there's an elegiac quality to this collection. For me, 'we could', fall back in love, but I don't think it's going to happen for us, even after 21 years. Thankyou, as always, for your writing.
I’m deeply sorry to hear that you and your husband may be moving toward separation. Twenty-one years is a whole lifetime of rituals, memories, inside jokes, and small mercies. No poem can fix that, but I’m honoured that The Familiarity can accompany you through this threshold — that it can be elegiac, as you put it, and still somehow companion you through the uncertainty.
I hope the book, when it finally comes into the world (2027 maybe?), finds you gently. Perhaps we all learn over time that love isn’t a constant and letting go of one another is the greatest gift one can give as it allows each of you to find a richer, deeper, wiser, maybe even more pained, version of themselves.
I'm moved and grateful that you took the time to write this. Thankyou, your words mean a lot. Twenty-one years was indeed long enough to create a whole world and language of our own. Dismantling that shatters my heart into shards. But I do truly find comfort in The Familiarity. I recognise it from my experience of the fluctuations within a marriage. I find it elegiac right now. And I also find it fitting in a way you maybe didn't anticipate. In that recognising staying married will destroy 2 people and already living separately, after all the pain and anger I'm beginning to see the man I married again. Paradoxically, separation and being 'single but significant' may allow us to love eachother again. To fall back in love, not married, but as two people who still deeply care about eachother. I know the familiarity is about refinding love within a marriage, but may I take my interpretation as refinding love with my lifelong person in an unmarried, unconventional way? I hope you don't mind my adaptation. I am so glad to know you here. And thankyou for your poems, your talent shines and shoots across my sky like a trailblazing meteor, lighting it up.
Oh wow. This is exactly why I love poetry. I so deeply felt this, for a long lost lover of mine of whom I only ever think when I stumble upon art like this.
A weighty poem about long term love. When I married my 2nd husband midlife (he 40, I 43) i had dreams about getting old together. I longed for that experience, but my dreams did not meet the reality as it turned out. Our marriage lasted 41 years. Hubby died 2.5 years ago. The last 8 years of his life I was his caregiver. After his near death in kidney failure that had started his downfall, the person who came back from weeks in hospital was somehow a stranger. His dementia increased over the years, as well as other illnesses. Talk about extremes. This vibrant, brilliant man I had married reduced to a shadow of his former self. People call it "tough love". Now, afterwards, I treasure the learning inherent in that total (for me too almost fatal) experience. A saving grace is that I am not bitter, nor do I carry any regrets that my dreams fell short. The idea I hold on to is that we do not always get what we think we want, but we always get what our soul knows we need on a deeper level. Knowing this, I have peace and a sense of fulfilment. Maria
Thank you for telling this, Maria. I’m so sorry for all you went through, and I admire the peace and perspective you’ve found. It means a great deal that the poem connected with your story.
This is a tender, precise meditation on hope, hesitation, and the soft ache of loving someone who can’t quite meet you in the room you keep imagining together.
Lovely.
A tender piece, emphasizing the smoldering, rather than raging, passion that some lucky longstanding couples experience. Well done.
Lovely, and impressive!
that is truly a wonderful poem. Kudos!
Gorgeous. A love poem for the grieving
This stanza was incredibly authentic and universal in so many ways:
Later I bring you orchids and lilies.
Their rusted anthers brush my shirt,
smudging pollen, evidence
of my clumsy devotion.
You are furious—not at the flowers,
but at the way love always
arrives slightly bruised, slightly bent,
and leaves its echoes behind.
Thank you Poornima
Love this. How life carries us, our dreams overlay onto reality. We could do that!
Understated, moody, perfect
The words 'we could ', poignantly and beautifully left in isolation, are genius. Leaving unsaid the possibility, leaving unsaid the let down. Perhaps the best two words there are to sum up a relationship, that always could, and always might not. I'm beside myself waiting till The Familiarity is published and I can buy it. I need it in my life and on my bookshelf. It's particularly poignant a read as I think my husband and I aren't falling back in love but are heading towards separation. So, for me, there's an elegiac quality to this collection. For me, 'we could', fall back in love, but I don't think it's going to happen for us, even after 21 years. Thankyou, as always, for your writing.
I’m deeply sorry to hear that you and your husband may be moving toward separation. Twenty-one years is a whole lifetime of rituals, memories, inside jokes, and small mercies. No poem can fix that, but I’m honoured that The Familiarity can accompany you through this threshold — that it can be elegiac, as you put it, and still somehow companion you through the uncertainty.
I hope the book, when it finally comes into the world (2027 maybe?), finds you gently. Perhaps we all learn over time that love isn’t a constant and letting go of one another is the greatest gift one can give as it allows each of you to find a richer, deeper, wiser, maybe even more pained, version of themselves.
I'm moved and grateful that you took the time to write this. Thankyou, your words mean a lot. Twenty-one years was indeed long enough to create a whole world and language of our own. Dismantling that shatters my heart into shards. But I do truly find comfort in The Familiarity. I recognise it from my experience of the fluctuations within a marriage. I find it elegiac right now. And I also find it fitting in a way you maybe didn't anticipate. In that recognising staying married will destroy 2 people and already living separately, after all the pain and anger I'm beginning to see the man I married again. Paradoxically, separation and being 'single but significant' may allow us to love eachother again. To fall back in love, not married, but as two people who still deeply care about eachother. I know the familiarity is about refinding love within a marriage, but may I take my interpretation as refinding love with my lifelong person in an unmarried, unconventional way? I hope you don't mind my adaptation. I am so glad to know you here. And thankyou for your poems, your talent shines and shoots across my sky like a trailblazing meteor, lighting it up.
Excellent.
Oh wow. This is exactly why I love poetry. I so deeply felt this, for a long lost lover of mine of whom I only ever think when I stumble upon art like this.
The reason we write and read poetry. Honored that it moved you.
Tender and vulnerable love. This is beautifully written.
A weighty poem about long term love. When I married my 2nd husband midlife (he 40, I 43) i had dreams about getting old together. I longed for that experience, but my dreams did not meet the reality as it turned out. Our marriage lasted 41 years. Hubby died 2.5 years ago. The last 8 years of his life I was his caregiver. After his near death in kidney failure that had started his downfall, the person who came back from weeks in hospital was somehow a stranger. His dementia increased over the years, as well as other illnesses. Talk about extremes. This vibrant, brilliant man I had married reduced to a shadow of his former self. People call it "tough love". Now, afterwards, I treasure the learning inherent in that total (for me too almost fatal) experience. A saving grace is that I am not bitter, nor do I carry any regrets that my dreams fell short. The idea I hold on to is that we do not always get what we think we want, but we always get what our soul knows we need on a deeper level. Knowing this, I have peace and a sense of fulfilment. Maria
Thank you for telling this, Maria. I’m so sorry for all you went through, and I admire the peace and perspective you’ve found. It means a great deal that the poem connected with your story.
This is a tender, precise meditation on hope, hesitation, and the soft ache of loving someone who can’t quite meet you in the room you keep imagining together.
This is so beautiful and so real
I find this so tender and sad. How time (and fury) erode that first blush of vibrant love, but that it persists imperfect and devoted nevertheless.
Thank you, Kaylene, that’s beautifully put. Love does weather so much, and I’m grateful the poem carried that sense for you.