Over the Threshold

The man, gentle, sun-leathered,

steps out of his car, glides

around to the other side,

where he opens the door

for his adoring wife

of fifty years.

He pulls out her cane, gently slides

one booted foot, then the other,

down to the ground, planting them

on the gravel driveway.

He places the cane in her dappled hand,

then firmly, deftly, ever so tenderly,

he hoists her out of her seat,

one hand on the curve of her back,

the other on her slender arm.

She leans on her cane

and her husband,

shuffling ever so slowly,

as he leads her, unfaltering,

along the walkway

to their humble front door.

He lifts her up

and carries her, adoringly,

his beautiful bride

of fifty years,

over the threshold,

with all the strength and love

of their wedding day.

I submitted this poem to a magazine and received an encouraging rejection informing me that my poem made it to the final round of readings. This was affirmation enough. So, rather than allowing myself to feel discouraged, I thought there is no better way to respond than to share my poem with readers. (It’s been a while since I’ve posted here. This seems like the perfect time.) I hope it resonates with you!