after the valentines

Slightly wilted roses, thorns still on the stems,

in water colored like the midday fog above the Thames,

look out the kitchen window--where they can best be seen--

beside the spot she puts her ring when dishes must be cleaned.

Three chocolates are hidden on the upper pantry shelf

so the children will not find the few she saved out for herself.

It's two weeks since the holiday. He's mowing the front lawn;

she's driving from the dentist and knows that before long

they'll be reading bedtime stories, vacuuming the car,

paying bills and mopping spills before they drip too far.

The hearts and gifts of Valentines fade dully to the past,

reminders that this love and home are built of things that last.