Every morning when I get up and see the image that glares back at me from the bathroom mirror, I wonder what it was that my wife saw in me. Unshaven, foul of breath, tousled of hair, and considerably bulkier than the manly stud I was 44 years ago, I thank the powers that installed the compensating filters in my beloved's eyes.
This poem by Ada Limón says it all ...
Love Poem with Apologies for My Appearance
by Ada Limón
Sometimes, I think you get the worst
of me. The much-loved loose forest green
sweat pants, the long bra-less days, hair
knotted and uncivilized, a shadowed brow
where the devilish thoughts do their hoofed
dance on the brain. I'd like to say this means
I love you, the stained white cotton t-shirt,
the tears, pistachio shells, the mess of orange
peels on my desk, but it's different than that.
I move in this house with you, the way I move
in my mind, unencumbered by beauty's cage.
I do like I do in the tall grass, more animal-me
than much else. I'm wrong, it is that I love you,
but it's more that when you say it back, lights
out, a cold wind through curtains, for maybe
the first time in my life, I believe it.
Happily, I think that devilish thoughts do their hoofed dance on her brain as well.
Have a good day and enjoy the rest of your weekend. More thoughts coming.
Bilbo
