The Way of Love in August Light
by Louisa Muniz
On the way home he asks, do you have to talk to everyone you meet? Today, it was the secretary & waitress, yesterday, the mailman & then the cashier at the supermarket. I take a deep breath, think twice before answering. Isn’t keeping the peace between us a half-lit doorway into prayer? According to Rumi, the way of love is not a subtle argument. So I say, I like people & making connections & besides, the level of interaction with people throughout your day increases your chances of living longer. Hmph, he responds & turns on the radio. Miley is belting out lyrics from her hit song, Flowers. Her words strum the air then resonate like rain on the evergreen of the trees.
Earlier, I escorted my husband to the Retina Center to fill out paperwork for upcoming eye surgery. The secretary, whom I’ve met before, asks him, can you get clearance from your heart doctor? Afterwards, she looks up at me & says, you look pretty with your hair up like that. My husband leans back. Stares wide-eyed at me & nods. She chuckles, he’s looking at you as if seeing you for the first time today. I laugh, yes, I can see that. We break into giggles. She starts to speak. Can you… but breaks into a giggle again.
Later, at the Italian restaurant the chatty waitress & I engage in conversation. She tells me, I’m back in school for my master’s degree in speech pathology, that’s why I have to work so much. I tell her, yeah, I know what you mean. I went back to school while I worked, too. I also had my kids. My husband smiles & sips his Corona.
At home, that evening, he pulls out a wedge of watermelon from the fridge. He takes one bite & the juice from the pulp runs down his chin & onto the counter. Smiling, he declares, this watermelon is really sweet but not nearly as sweet as you, & because all is not lost I lean back. Stare at him wide-eyed & nod, as if I’m seeing him for the first time that day. Hmph, I say, sip my wine, then ask Alexa to play Vivaldi’s Four Seasons: Spring.
From across the room, August light falls on the man I’ve spent the last forty-five years with. Mindful of this moment, our share of ache & grief coupled with the love & resolve we hold, I lean into him. With my tender ear against the window of his chest, I hear the sound of an incessant chirring. The kind a male sparrow displays to announce he owns a nest in order to attract a female. The August light filters through the billowy curtains lending a holy glow. From the eaves: the sonorous sound of birdsong, like gladness, grows over me.
Louisa Muniz lives in Sayreville, N.J. She holds a Master’s in Curriculum and Instruction from Kean University. Her work has appeared in Tinderbox Journal, SWWIM, ONE ART, Palette Poetry, Menacing, Gyroscope, Poetry Quarterly, PANK Magazine, Shark Reef and elsewhere. She won the Sheila-Na-Gig 2019 Spring Contest for her poem Stone Turned Sand. Her work has been nominated a few times for Best of the Net and a Pushcart Prize. Her debut chapbook, After Heavy Rains by Finishing Line Press was released in December, 2020. Her second chapbook is forthcoming.