Her kids and mine are grown and moved away,
becoming parents and making loving homes
where, in the wind, the rope-hung tree-swings sway
and flowers grow amid the garden gnomes.
They bring their kids and visit now and then.
They think they interrupt some quiet scene
of midday naps and dreams of “way back when”
and worry that they’ll leave the house unclean.
They’ll never know the way we crank the tunes,
the joyful way we sing and harmonize,
our spicy dancing close from room to room,
or the hunger in the meeting of our eyes.
This epic passion that defines our truth
ignites in us a flame unknown in youth.