Poem by Charles P. Ries
I have a girlfriend; she’s 40 years older than I.
We say it’s unfair to have met when age
and polio have left her youthfulness behind.
When I am with her, being is like breathing
and long silences are as productive as two-hour conversations.
Love often finds us this way —
Right person, wrong place
Wrong time, right person
Right woman, near death.
She told me that when I am 75,
I’ll realize how everything only gets worse.
When the ones you love die, new ones no
longer take their place. But I tell her she’s wrong.
Life dealt us its cruel card. We won’t be jumping into
flaming beds with the passion of young bodies. Rather,
I will roll her wheelchair or lift her off the ground when
she topples over. I will be happy to hold her in my heart
as a perfect moment when love blew through the right
window at the wrong time.