If I Lived with You
You’d fix up everything broken in my house.
And I’d fix up your spelling. With my best scissors
I’d trim your beard, not even noticing the grey bits.
I wouldn’t have a problem
with squirrels in the walls
mould in the cellar.
And I’d find your glasses by evening. Promise.
We’d have mealy pudding on Robbie Burns Day.
Fish through Lent. Keep house by the Julian calendar.
And I’d tell you, once a day at least, the sound
Of your voice in my head when you’re absent.
Oblate as two breaths. That’d be the difference.
You’re way late is something I’d never say.
Wouldn’t have to. We’d both know time’s long at the last.
Friday would not evaporate as soon as we’re through with it.
As for all the other stuff,
In a small room we’d call sonnet, I’d make up a bed as usual.
Anne Compton, BA, MA, PhD, (poet, academic, professor, editor, and arts organizer) was born in Bangor, Prince Edward Island, in December 1947 and currently lives in Saint John, New Brunswick, where she teaches at the University of New Brunswick Saint John.
