By way of some work I’m doing on All In … Almost (or, “Wow, Obnoxious Much?”), I went and found this poem, which I wanted to (and will) include in the book. It was written by my wife Catherine seven months before she and I were married.
San Francisco
Once, we lived in an old summer house
and you could open the windows
and in would slowly blow
happy ghosts
wave tossed, sunburned
smiling and tired
and
every so often
my husband and I
while cleaning the tub in the afternoon
or sitting on the front steps
would find
still salty-damp and sandy
one of those old fashioned bathing suits.
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