The Winter of ‘88
Dark, cold, and empty.
I remember it as though
The chill had never left my bones.
Every night at five o’clock,
Returning to that house,
Dark, cold, and empty;
And, gritting my teeth as I walked,
Through the biting frigid air,
I could almost taste the warmth I craved;
Could almost see her, touch her;
The soft eyes, the gentle hands,
The sibilant melting voice;
As though she were waiting for me
Just behind a gauzy curtain,
The flimsiest of barriers,
That I need only push aside.
And I’d enfold her in my arms,
As tightly as one could
Without her existing in the flesh,
As if an act of will
Could conjure from the mists
My dream made real.
Then winter’s cold gave way to spring,
And there it was at last,
That gauzy curtain.
I tore it aside,
And seized you in my arms.
Frank S. Robinson is a former New York State administrative law judge and author of seven books including Albany’s O’Connell Machine, and The Case for Rational Optimism. He writes the “Rational Optimist” blog and is married to the poet Therese Broderick. In 1969, he was the first man to walk on the Moon.