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transgender dating Ellerbe,dating for seniors Merrow,dating for seniors Mosholu,dating 50+ Trumbaursvlle,mature women dating Eshcol,singles to meet Maylene,mature women dating Villa Deloamit,dating 40 year old woman Cantril,, She awoke, and plugged in the MacBook. The screen lit up, and she opened the file she had to re-check. The old list of pregnancy tips, the one which she once used four years ago when she was pregnant with her first child. James and Paola were, at the outset of this story, about to celebrate their fourth marriage anniversary. They were getting ready to take a short vacation to Naples, and Paola was riddled with a nervousness about the idea of traveling, thinking about her pregnancy. On the way: her second child: on the way to a new life here on planet Earth. The four years which had passed since the marriage were filled with such a wild and inexplicable romance, the stuff of magical and mystical essences combining, filled with the type of romantic extravagance about which one only reads in novels and sees take place in the movies. There had been born, just about seven months after their marriage, a little girl: born the following Spring after the wedding, which had taken place in the Autumn. Their sweet, little daughter was now three and a half years old. The new child's gender, the little angel in utero, was as yet unknown during this short story's promptly outset; yet Paola felt somewhere inside her a deep, motherly knowledge that this, her next child, would be a little boy: another little ray of sunlight.Upon searching for the file, she saw another, a pdf., which caught her eye. It was a series of five poems which her husband had once sent to her, all those four years ago. He had written them just after they got married, one afternoon, after they had gotten into a fight. The beginning of their marriage had proved itself, though not without some shaky fireworks.She smiled. His poetry had been published just after the birth of their little girl, yet none of his published legacy contained the personal poems which he would write for her from time to time, personal poems like the little pdf. which she opened after reading the pregnancy tips a few times over.The pdf. file filled the MacBook screen.The poet's legacy and the legacy of his Muse.Her eyes grew large and watery as she let herself be led back into the past. The legacy of his poetry was alive, yes, quaintly and somehow, and he was trying to publish another book of poems at the time of their little trip to Naples. Vague and untouchable thoughts about the past arose in her head as she stared at the open pdf. file. But this little part of it would forever remain hers, she thought, and hers alone.Hers alone, or so she thought that sunny Sunday afternoon....Cinque Salviette; or, Five Supposed Romantic Love Poems written by thy faithful loverFor you, PaolaGrazie Cielo; a poemI will writeNo furtherRancid, ugly poemsWhere I unwittingly referenceBukowskiAnd her, my wife,In the same breath- besides this one, of courseBecause she does not like Bukowski’s writingNor does she like me writing poemsAbout herIn which, though I write them filled with love andInspiration,I also mention Bukowski’s linesThat is not my idea of romantic,She saysAnd she’s rightAnd I love her soSo I’ll write her somethingShe’ll likeSomething likeA poemAbout old womenWalking up and down the streets where she, once upon a millennium’s bend, spent part of her adolescenceSaying to each other quietly,Grazie cieloUse More Wipes; a poemOur catsWake me upSometimesI’ll learn to live with itTheir poop smells horribleAnd sometimes it’s messyBut I clean it without a word, and I enjoy doing these little things for you,I’m already used to the smellAnd I love themAnd take care of themFurther Wipes, For My Love; a poemOne doesn’t even noticeOne’s shirt is half unbuttoned and untuckedUntil one is in townEating a mealAt a somewhat busy restaurantAnd oneAfter eating a first biteLooks down to wipeThe crumbs off of one’s trousersThank you, love,For eating with me(I had my laptop open, and a picture of you filled the MacBook’s screen)Thank you, love,For staying with meWhen I spilt my food- messy bites-And thank you for staying with meWhile I noticed the crumby trousersAnd the half unbuttoned shirtAnd so wipedAnd buttonedAnd then you called me backYou called me back homeWiped and well buttonedAnd, with a shirt still untucked,MarriedThank you, loveBookstore Blues, Libreria News; a poemSitting outsideThe bookstoreI’m staring at the Italian translationOf Raymond Carver’s collected poetryJust got off the phoneWith my wifeShe’s taking me backWe had a bad fight last night -don’t ask-Happy tearsTake the passenger-seatOf my eyesI look upFrom the bench I’m sitting onThe bookstore“La Picolla Libreria”Here in the village of LevicoI see books displayedIncluding Carver’s translationsIn the windowOne of themA children’s picture-bookThe cover picture-A young boy, a few years old,Holding the hand of his GrandmaHis NonnaAnd, looking at this children’s picture-bookAnd its cover-picture,The tears take the wheelJoyful tears take the driver-seatOf my heartAnd, looking up, I see a cloudIn the shape of a heartNow, surelyThe cloud isn’t very heart-shapedBut, I introspect:If I ever saw anyoneWho was in the shoes like the ones which I’m wearing nowCircumstanciallyIf I ever saw anyoneWho was experiencing the circumstances which I am now experiencingWho looked upAnd didn’t see a heart-shapeIn the clouds,I’d say they were absolutely crazyAnd now I wipe my tears,Tears of deepfelt joy and gratitude,On the sleeve of my shirtAs two old women passWalking along the cobblestonesBy the bookstore windowThey are sayingTo each otherAs they watch me in my bittersweet and bench-ridden melancholy,Grazie cieloWhy?I haven’t a clueI don’t know who their God isBut after speaking to my wife on the phoneI’ve been thanking mineGrazie cielo,Says the American in ItalyOn the melancholy benchAs he has deep thoughts aboutHis future childrenAnd his wifeAnd their life togetherOne More Poem; a poemChildren playOutside the bookstoreI hear them playingI’m about to leaveI’m almost on my way homeTo youThe children outside the bookstore, they’re chanting the word ‘Mami’As I purchase Carver’s poetry at the registerAnd me,I’m on my way back to youBack to youAnd that germoglioWho sprouted in your perfect wombAt the perfect timeIn the perfect placeOn the perfect planetIn the perfect countryWith the perfect peopleAll under a perfect sunChildren playOutside the bookstoreAnd I’m on my way homeBack to you, lovefin….Years after James’ poetic legacy had died, well into the second half of the 23rd Century- well after his words had spurred on poetic inspirations in the hearts of many and opened the eyes of many and then died and faded out of existence- the little poems he wrote for his beloved Muse, his Paola, would end up living on, as she would have then passed them on, would have passed them on as her legacy, first to her daughter, and her daughter would have passed them on to her daughter, and her daughter would have by then passed them on further, and so on, the long life of the story of a family’s beginning, with an end nowhere in sight.,dating for singles W Carrollton,dating in your 50s Whittington,dating 50 year old man New Fairfield,mature women dating North Benton,singles near me Weston Lakes,quick flirt Port Angeles,dating 60 year old man Boundry,asian dating Mosca,dating 50 year old man Ft Blackmore,asexual dating Mansura Junction,dating long distance Rdgville Cors,adult personals Kensington,