We can never obtain peace in the outer world until we make peace with ourselves.
– Dalai Lama
Terri Lynn Cummings
A third of what the husband remembered was false.
Memories hid inside, wearing masks
until they stepped into the world
and delivered him to or from himself.
Half of what the wife said waited with no concern.
She simply told herself, Say it. Do it!
yet years had passed before those words inspired
or were nothing more than steam from a shower.
Yet when his memories were deeds that replenished the earth
her actions seeded life from the bed of inertia.
They infused their days with more than dreams
that boiled like water, churning until spent.
Now this man and wife fill lungs with treasure
breathe and savor their breath to the last.
Poet’s Notes: Sometimes, fingers point blame at another when issues fester within ourselves. If not careful, the term ‘bad marriage’ becomes an excuse and then reality. Recently, a friend laid frustrations at the partner's feet. Insightful dialogue and action dissolved the pressure. This led me to examine my marriages – one had faded but the other bloomed.
Editor's Note: I am incredibly lucky in my choice of mate. Nevertheless, while I do not identify with this poem, I believe many readers will. I particularly enjoy the uplifting conclusion of this piece.