Let Me Not Count the Ways

by James S. Wilk

Of all the ways to say that I love you,
I've given kisses, greeting cards and flowers
and written -- in my best hand -- billets-doux
and scores of sonnets. But this love of ours
is not so easily expressed by words
or any tangible but fleeting token
like roses, momentary as the birds'
chorale at dawn, destined to fade like broken
promises. No, these aren't the ways that best
express what I desire most: to grow old
with you, to hold your hand in mine the rest
of our long lives. And when your hands are cold
in death, I'll sit beside you on the bed
and weeping, paint your fingernails red.

© 2008 by James S. Wilk




About the Author

James Wilk, M.D. is a physician in Denver, Colorado specializing in medical disorders complicating pregnancy. His poems have appeared in Measure, The Sow's Ear, The Salt Flats Annual, Barefoot Muse and others. His chapbook, Shoulders, Fibs, and Lies is available through Pudding House Press: www.puddinghouse.com



All content copyright © 2006-12 by ShatterColors, unless otherwise indicated. All rights reserved.
Reproduction of material, in whole or in part, from any ShatterColors Literary Review
pages without written permission of the copyright owners is strictly prohibited.
Site designed and built by Robert Scott Leyse, with input and logo by Granville Papillon,
and wallpaper by Edward Haven from two of his paintings.