Us

This is Us. We duck taped our overalls to keep the ticks out.

The rain drips

like silver beads

off the green metal roof.

We sit side by side

on the old cushions

of the porch swing,

gazing at the wet world

that explodes with new life.

You chug a beer.

I sip wine from a Mason jar.

Your hand touches mine.

Yours,

calloused and tan-

freshly washed clean

of tractor oil and gasoline.

Mine,

nicked from thorns

and pink from slicing strawberries-

fingernails still unpainted

since last summer.

I smile.
You grin.
And we stare through the damp screen
in silence.


I pick a tiny tick
off my ankle.

You cross your arms.

A wren rests on the branches of an oak tree
and thunder growls softly in the gray clouds.


We begin to swing in rhythm-
slowly rocking our feet-
leaning back against the flowered pillows
in weary surrender.


The chain creaks and groans
and we laugh.

"I love you," I say.


"I love you more," You reply.


You drink your beer.
I finish my wine.

The day fades as we watch
shadows fill the woods.

And suddenly 
I know for certain
this is all 
I will ever need.