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When I Tell My Husband I Miss the Sun, He Knows
against each other. We bring the shadow game home
and (this is my favorite part) when we
stretch our shadows across the bed, we get so tangled
my husband grips his own wrist,
certain it’s my wrist, and kisses it.
From Paige Lewis’ When I Tell My Husband I Miss the Sun, He Knows
This poem is an ode to intimacy. Intimacy where playfulness and understanding live. Intimacy where knowing and stillness happen. Intimacy born of kindness that is never cruel.
I love the image of tangled shadows and gentle kisses. It reminds me that intimacy is mysterious and joyous. It reminds me that intimacy is simple and beautiful. Simple is not easy. I mean simple like soft and open. (All of which are aspects of ourselves that are difficult to know in our hard and beautiful world.)
M. Scott Peck defines love as, “The will to extend one’s self for the purpose of nurturing one’s own or another’s spiritual growth.” Within that, love is the heart of intimacy. It encompasses hearts and flowers, listening and seeing, forgiving and listening, dreaming and building, falling apart and coming back together. Like sweet games shared between husband and wife, like inside jokes with dear friends, like traditions celebrated in families, like rituals celebrated in community, like tables big enough to feed us all.
About Katie
Born in Louisville. Live in Atlanta. Curious by nature. Researcher by education. Writer by practice. Grateful heart by desire.
Buy the Book!
The Stage Is On Fire, a memoir about hope and change, reasons for voyaging, and dreams burning down can be purchased on Amazon.