Contented

I sit before bedtime,

tapping at my computer, 

admiring the frayed edges

of my favorite hoodie,

the sleeves pulled over 

the back of my hands 

so that just my fingers

stretch out to type.

I see you at your desk,

a plaid flannel robe,

the thick collar pulled

high on your neck,

and you don’t even

realize I’m smiling,

watching you read,

your glasses down 

slightly on your nose.  

We’ve had our dinner,

a spicy soup, leftovers

from yesterday; 

we cleaned the kitchen

together, just as we 

always do, and I feel

so contented to be here

with you; we’ve no need

to talk or watch television,

so we stream our favorite

classical tunes, attend our

own interests, and later

you’ll tell me you’re ready 

for bed, and, just like

so many evenings before,

I’ll follow you to dreamland.

—C.L. Fisher, September 2020

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