That Arm Around My Waist
A poem
I’ve heard tell
That love should be
Violent, dizzy, fierce
But to me
It all comes down to
that arm around my waist.
Boring, you say?
Perhaps it is
But in a world gone mad
With directionless people
Everything uncertain,
Nothing secure
Isn’t it lovely
To come back to
That arm around my waist?
Perhaps he doesn’t understand me
Perhaps we don’t gel well
But what’s the mystery left in life,
If all is understood?
So at dead of night,
When nightmares threaten
Or insecurities rise
When lightning and thunder inside my mind
Rival the forces of nature, without,
I am glad to have the comfort of
His arm around my waist.
40 years, and counting
All the vicissitudes of life,
Births and deaths, and highs and lows
And everything in between
When change is unchanging,
It feels good to keep coming back to
That arm around my waist.