by Judith Skillman
We foundered in and out of love,
hated one another, buttered toast,
raised three children,
lost two fathers, got a new knee,
fused two vertebrae, in sickness
lying mostly alone sometimes
together, watched concussion
come and go, the dilated pupil
of our son’s eye lit at night
by your flashlight,
the first daughter’s marriage
a fête of magnificent proportions,
the second daughter’s quick one
in the courtroom
shortly before our third grandchild.
Our forty years came and went
through grounds fragrant
with lilac and wisteria
even though one summer
when a tree fell flat over with a loud crack
for no reason either of us
could fathom you came up
with a scientific explanation.
Judith Skillman lives in Newcastle, Washington, and is a dual citizen of Canada and the US. Her work has appeared in Cimarron Review, Threepenny Review, Zyzzyva, and many other journals. She is the recipient of awards from Academy of American Poets and Artist Trust. Her new collection is A Landscaped Garden for the Addict, Shanti Arts Press, 2021. Judith teaches at Hugo House in Seattle. Visit her online at judithskillman.com.
