I Save My Love
I save my love for what is close,
for the dog's eyes, the depths of brown
when I take a wet cloth to them
to wash his face. I save my love
for the smell of coffee at The Mill,
the roasted near-burn of it, especially
the remnant that stays later
in the fibers of my coat. I save my love
for what stays. The white puff
my breath makes when I stand
at night on my doorstep.
That mist doesn't last, evaporates
like your car turning the corner,
you at the wheel, waving.
Your hand a quick tremble in a
brief illumination. Palm and fingers.
Your face toward me. You had
turned on the over-head light so I would
see you for an instant, see you waving,
see you gone.
Copyright Credit: Poem copyright ©2019 by Marjorie Saiser, "I Save My Love," from Learning to Swim, (Stephen F. Austin State University Press, 2019). Poem reprinted by permission of Marjorie Saiser and the publisher.