Her regimen's inviolate. They squabble because he wants his breakfast first, before he helps her make the bed, to her a rite enshrining, as they mutually fold the sheet across the blanket, their whole union. She fears he wants escape, although they have been married sixty years and there's no place to go but death. She'll show the visitor her dangling bracelet a charm for each city. The Eiffel Tower's gold. Hong Kong's the "Good Luck" character. And this? She rubs the Kremlin's shine, fretful in this litany of charms. Names walked off, friends turned into foreigners beneath trees in the Tuileries. She's awed that it's insured for thousands while she wanders in crowds of strangers who once told her where she was. The captain's tables all are gone, although a matinee excites her. But if he wants to escape, all that holds her from being lost is his hands on the far side smoothing the fold of sheet over blanket. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE THAW by HAYDEN CARRUTH POETS ARE BORN NOT MADE by ROBERT FROST IN LOVE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE FRUIT GARDEN PATH by AMY LOWELL COUNTRYWOMEN by KATHERINE MANSFIELD JUNIUS BRUTUS BOOTH by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |