She, more than any, believed in no large answers.
She hemmed cloth, sewed borders, designed compartments
As boxes of one world order.
I was going to free her from the patterns.
December in Indiana,
I took her there in my sculpture period.
Our breath froze and fell in the studio cold,
and the clay was hard.
I pushed and pinched and kneaded
hoping the heat of my hands was enough
to shape my design.
Clay too cold will crack.
June in Colorado,
She took me there in my photography period.
Her portfolio finished, we went fishing.
She was upstream catching trout
While I was downstream hooking suckers.
Sitting together watching the water roil
its sparkling cloth of image patterns,
I thought of how the fashions of our lives change.
Fishing buddies,
That’s not bad, maybe more.