Myrtle Court
(for a man married to the same woman all of his life)
Crape myrtles draped the sidewalks
down your childhood street, blossoms
in the fountain’s three tiers.
We coppered the circle on the bottom,
with pennies we threw, believing it made
a difference. What swam
in our heads with such trust? And what
has time bought — who saved who?
Remember the argument
one election eve that lasted until love
at dawn? Not even the day’s bright gold
stopped us from canceling each other’s vote.
Now a cul-de-sac, the court holds
young families adding decks
to tile and stucco houses,
driveways wide with vans and jeeps.
Magenta petals stain the stones
where we climbed wet steps,
peering through all that spilled
to see what settled.