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Buy or Lease?

We're sitting in the showroom, surrounded by machines
and men making the case to lease, not buy
("depreciation," "you're gonna want a new one"),
and I think of Joe, the car dealer in South Carolina
where we stopped for directions to a justice of the peace.
Joe asked my husband-to-be, "Why buy
the cow when she's giving you milk for free?"
Me he promised to get him to the altar
and even brought us home to make a wedding
that lasted thirty years.

Joe told us he had a son about our age
and hoped someone would act like kin if he
were driving across country in a old blue van.
My mom (who bought us the van) flew from Florida
to give us her blessing. Joe's sweet wife Clara
polished the silver and fried some chicken and baked
corn bread that we dipped in local honey.
Joe tried to get a T.V. crew to film
Southern Hospitality to Yankees
(and good PR for his dealership too),
but we said no. This was a private ceremony
between two lovers and strangers who believed
in doing unto others.

Joe's salesman notarized the marriage form
then handed it to us to mail ourselves.
His wife had run away with another man
(did she buy or lease?) leaving him
with four young boys. They came in small dark suits
in June to hear us say our marriage vows.
That night Joe made us sleep in a bedroom instead
of the van and placed a jar of Vaseline
by the bed that's still a joke. In the morning
Joe and Clara gave us a big jug
of back hill white lightning for our journey
that was a revelation.

We carried that piece of paper all the way
from the Blue Ridge Mountains to California
where I was born. And when we reached the coast
we found a mailbox and read the form again.
Who would know? What difference would it make?
It's an old story, but a good story, and by now
you know the ending: We leased the car,
but I married the man, and that was the best
decision I ever made.

from This Is Why You Flew Ten Thousand Miles (Whittier Publications, 2006)

Skin Knows Skin

The way the water spreads beneath the wind
    across the pond in widening waves
        of sparkling light –
the way a sleek, elegant animal arches
    into the palm of a familiar
        beloved hand –
I tremble beneath your touch.

How can the body respond
    year after year
        to the same urges and delights?
Skin knows skin
    I say when you press into my body
        soft flesh and hard bones.
Skin loves skin
    your body replies
        stretched head to toe beside.

from This Is Why You Flew Ten Thousand Miles (Whittier Publications, 2006)

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