I told her today, "That's the type of poet you are." We happenned to be on our way to dinner and on Comm Ave there was a street corner memorial to a deceased student-young person and she asked if she could stop and read the page that was there. I mentioned that she was that type of writer and she was more than welcome to read it. Apparently someone had had a fatal accident and was remembered by their peers.
We were walking and she stopped into Marsh Chapel to pray, which she always does if we are out whenever there is an open church. I really wasn't thinking of a poem this time, or a theme and later i told her that although we saw Ellie Wiesel speak at the University, of which I'm still very appreciative, there didn't seem to be that many lectures open to the public considering the size of the University and how near to Boston it really is- shouldn't there really be one a week in that its one of the only places where it can take place. (There are lectures in aesthetics open to the public, but I don't think it would harm George Santanyana to have a couple more. And in regard to film- its only a movie projector)
She asked why I hadn't been blogging recently. I took her to dinner the other night near the Longefellow House- and we made love untill late- and I broke my recorded on the bench press again, which is now 250lbs (I still weigh 132 at 50 years old, still a size 32 dungaree), and brushed up on some of the other weightlifting- so I should have been blogging, but I've been immersed in Danish Silent Film and have been reading in order to revise writing- so I was expanding my webpages.
But then again last night was astonishing. During the middle of the night she all of a sudden asked if I needed a blanket and covered me with a soft spoken tone. Something that small-that significant; my thought were just, "You were just nice to me." and then I tried to avoid the cliches, "That was worth alot" and "That meant alot."
But after all this living together, dating while living together, seeing each other while living together, she just that one time was nice to me. Then and there, no else but her. She very simply put a blanket one me during the middle of the night. That's all, which brings all of my sincerity as a poet in to play, all the self honesty there is to poetry into play.
I've been waiting to blog that she gave me gloves and socks for Christmas, actually I write on film history on the internet and she added a new video player to the bedroom during the middle of her shuttling back and forth from Macy's shopping for fashion, and there it was- someone covering me with a blanket at that hour.