“Calling a Spade a Spade”

She plays spades now, and I laugh as she tells me about learning; her comfort with her new partner and his family — I must have begged her a hundred times. And then she suggests we play, two-man style; I say yes, with a straight face. I watch her eyes open wide, behind big, fancy framed lens, and for a moment, reminds me of ones similar, from a received picture mail; a girl’s trip to Vegas — where she was when I told her that I loved her — the day before her birthday, pit in my stomach. Her phone rings at 0501, happy birthday, You — I love you, hearing the smile on her face as she replied in her morning voice.

I wrote poems for years, that fell upon her deaf ears; and each time, knocked me down a peg. I could never understand how I was too deep for her, she’d say; as she soaks up knowledge so willingly now — when our wave was instant. The first time I had to leave, she cried, begging me to come back, while I was in love with her, trying to make peace with the fact that I was at the end of my visit. Her smile consumed me. Her voice was a constant melodic tune to me, slightly sultry tone, sonically beautiful. When she used to sing…my beautiful reality awoke from her dream, to find me staring at her, taking in her being, and wasn’t pleased. So, what else do two parents of young children, adjusting to their 30’s do?