Adam Tessier
Adam Tessier

from The Very Rich Hours


I woke up alone—
Through the window you
looked almost like a picture
by the Limbourg Brothers: Sox shirt
wrapped around your head, like some kind
of blue turban
unwinding down your neck
                                                     and I knew it was summer.


**


In the yard, we put Prince on the stereo
and in a downbeat
were shirtless, dancing. Moon through
the wind through the maple:
a strobe, until we forgot
we were dancing, no set movements, only your hand
at the back of my neck, you singing I ain’t like
                                                      those other guys you hang around.

**

How your Levi’s held onto your hips as lovers should, how
we all want that—to be held there, for awhile,
and jugs of pure maple syrup
to drizzle all over our pancakes,
wanting more and then more and
then someone
in a ridiculous pink apron to draw into our laps
and feed from our own fork.

**

When we decided not only to tend it, the garden, but
to wrestle it
out of disuse, untangling the concertina wire
and setting, like fire, ivy to the fences,
the neighbors offered to help.
They positioned the birdbath. They repainted the gnome,
and next to it, concrete
                                                     Mary with her heart on her robe.