concrete and abstract—
she is credits, debits, balances forward
neatly written down in a ledger
kept in top right drawer of polished oak desk
alongside perfectly sharpened pencil—
I’m lines scribbled down with half-dead pen
on back of crumpled envelope or used napkin
stuffed inside the pocket of a jacket that doesn’t zip
receipts lost, misplaced, or forgotten at the point of purchase—
she’s two cups this, one-eight of a cup that, one quarter cup something else
recipe followed to the letter—
me? some of this, some of that, pour some of whatever that is in
her perfectly coiffed ducks are always in a row
my swallows flew off scattershot long ago, never to return
hers always come back to capistrano—-
look up opposites attract and you’ll see our picture
I like to think of us as yin and yang
living together in perfect harmony
balancing each other out
despite her over my head impeccable vernacular—
despite that she never laughs at my jokes
I’ve never read one of the books she loves so much
I don’t think she’s ever read one of my poems
her religiously sleeping in bed by midnight
my up all night tapping on a keyboard . . . . .
—despite all these incongruities
we’ve been through a lot together
we couldn’t be more one
