Ode to 8 Wives


Several are poets—spinning words out of air,
each line etched onto paper
like those people who carve into glass somehow
never breaking it.
Some write fiction—letting stories weave spells.
Some are artists—which makes me hopeful. Those bits and flashes of color shedding light in ways we couldn’t imagine before and now can’t imagine being without.
A couple study history, study science—the pieces that make up who we are seen from different angles.
Some like math—the beautiful way that numbers so easily define. We are all basic addition. Me+you=Us.
A few travel—one always and constantly, some only in dreams.
All are wives—perfect, graceful, wondrous to behold.

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