"This Is What I Have of You..."

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I'm the only one here

This is what I have of you:

You ordering me to sweep and dust the Parlor

You steaming off the wallpaper

You in front of a classroom of bored students

Digging up the dogwood tree

You working on the house smelling like sawdust and sweat

and designer cologne

You calling me at college to tell me how I'm supposed to feel

about Faulkner or Hemingway

You standing on the shoulder of route 150

bracing yourself against the pulse of the trucks rushing past

You succumbing to a rare moment of physical contact with me