And then. And then. And then.
(A Love Poem)
Girl! Where are you?
The lights of the theater marquee are so bright, I know we can have a fine time if you show.
You smell so good when you arrive:
heels, stretched sweater, curled lashes laurel-leafing eyes that don’t let go.
In the dark, by the light of the moving pictures, my quivering fingers touch yours.
My heartbeats box painfully against the wall of my body as the world goes still.
And then. And then. And then.
Your hand opens wide and embraces mine.
Girl! Where are you?
Ena and Marva got their hair on high, buzzing with the Father in the vestibule.
Your Daddy looks down by me, his face filled with uncertainty,
contemplating you, his precious hope-carrying boat about to leave the safety of his shores.
Heavy with rain yet to be, the air wraps the gathered dearly beloveds in a sleepy warmth.
My stomach turns and I rise like a balloon yearning to be caught.
And then. And then. And then.
You slow my breaths, singular in white satin and light as an ocean breeze, you take my ring.
You take my whole.
Girl! Where are you?
Saturn and Mars hang patiently, soon to be launched into orbit by a playful push.
Booties and beanies, measurable in hand worked hours, want for filling.
I catch you daydreaming of those little hands and feet.
I watch them trace along your most bountiful curve from somewhere deep inside.
I rub the small of your back, knowing I have only the power to wait.
And then. And then. And then.
You do it, Girl. You make us three. Then four.
You render me limitless.
Girl! Where are you?
Dinner alone waits for me cold. You’re long out the door.
The couch, littered with readers and jumpers and sneakers, is sagging.
The dishwasher gives up mid-cycle.
And the patio is overgrown with pots of basil grown amok.
I decode the calendar magnet-tacked to the fridge,
and now I’m running hot to make it for the boy’s 7th inning.
We are as ships passing in the night, coming into harbor under the cover of darkness.
And then. And then. And then.
You help me remember who we were.
Girl! Where are you?
The nest is free of debris.
Laughter, tears, shrieks, and shouts have dispersed dandelion seed-like.
Those noise swirled years- so loud, so lonely- shrunk me down,
pushed me far from you onto other shores.
The graying of our hair matches the hum of the appliances,
sometimes this the only sound captured within our walls.
My ulcer gnaws and brings me to my knees.
And then. And then. And then.
You pull me up by a rope of forgiveness,
tugged so taut it might just split.
Girl! Where are you?
Behold. The noise has returned. Oh joy!
Tales of love and fortunes gained, lost, reimagined, nurtured, carried through.
Fingers touch fingers, hands hold hands,
echoes of songs once sung that together we hear.
We gently hold dreams, not squeezing so tight that they may falter.
And then. And then. And then.
Mama, our living lessons bear fruit!
Infinity crawls at our feet.
Girl! Where am I?
I don’t always know, but I wish you were here.
The bed’s been halved- are you in the other half?- and we might not both fit between its rails.
Is it true?
They, still recognized as ours,
tell me your heart beats don’t bang against your chest wall as they should.
You still wear them sweaters real nice, though, and do your hair just so.
You looked real fine when I saw you last, no?
And when? And when? And when?
I saw you when?
Girl! Where are you?
This room is too hot and too dark, and I know you cannot come.
I did as I promised and returned you to your Daddy’s shore beneath the family stone.
He will keep you safe until I can see you again.
I lay alone and count the stars, searching, but lose them one by one.
And then. And then. And then.
You come to me in my sleep, checking in on me.
I fill with warm tears and tell you, I am good, Girl, and won’t be long.
Radha Lin Chaddah
December, 2024