I
met you in the pale spring afternoon.
I
met you on the veranda in March.
Your
eyes spoke of small buds and the new lambs,
you
brought me a copy of Tennyson.
When you will have loved, then you
will have lived.
Your
hands caressed my hands—all their detail,
as
your whole life touched my too-broken life,
as
daffodils shout their golden rims bright,
while
the leather Daphne fragranced my dreams.
When you will have loved, then you
will have lived.
I
was diminutive and shy, solemn,
draped
in a rocking chair in the sweeping
of
terra cotta, morning across cloud,
from
sunrise creeping over the mountain,
from
the alabaster blossoms weeping,
stealing
across the lawn like fingers proud.
When you will have loved, then you
will have lived.
When,
in my accent Cape Cod dress, I sit
on
evening’s veranda, ivory moon,
a
crescent, hangs before the flight of loons,
my
soul, in lamb’s soft wool, knits lanolin.
When you will have loved, then you
will have lived.
Iris
garden, in quiet pen sketches,
snowdrops,
undecorated. . . dreamy hues
kneel
on the cobblestones, and worship you
like
the early sun, dawn’s gentle stirrings.
When you will have loved, then you
will have lived.
As milky salve, I collect lavender;
cluster
by cluster, I peel hyacinth,
crushed
within marble mortar with pestle,
for
potpourri, with old rose petals, pearls
from
a turtle dove. Rain, pattering, rinsed
lilacs,
just in time for the tea kettle.
When you will have loved, then you
will have lived.
Ironing
doilies by my beeswax’s crest
of
candlelight, cotton wick tight-woven.
The
night is still-young and at peace, coven
of
cottage-core unmarred as a white dress.
When you will have loved, then you
will have lived.
Ladened
by metal sadiron, I pray,
I
press on and on into the spring eve.
By
the light of my one candle, I weave
the
iron to the pianoforte.
When you will have loved, then you
will have lived.
To
Clair de Lune, there’s no distraction now,
the
quarter notes come in blackened whispers.
Melody
rises and falls, in this town.
’Fore
the day is over you have my vow,
while
the small cat preens translucent whiskers,
you
will see me in my cream wedding gown.
When you will have loved, then you
will have lived.
Emily Isaacson
*This poem is not in a formal sonnet form, but has modified Italian sonnet rhyme schemes and sonnet quatrains with a repeting line.
