To Ken - My Husband

Theme: A special face at Christmas. A loved one: a best friend, a child, a spouse, a parent. A person who is real; not a book character. Someone you see, if only occasionally. Someone alive. Write it TO that person, FOR that person specifically. Use their name as your title. IE: My husband - Ken or My Child - Rob. ( or some variation along those lines that gives the relationship in some form.)What do they look like? What about their face gives you joy? Makes you feel some emotion? (safe, warm, loved?) Tell us about them by how they look. (When looking at you, laughing etc.) NOT what they do, but what you see and how they make you feel when you look at them.

Words to use: no specific ones today.
Forbidden words: face, you, (changed my mind after an hour and a half trying not to use that word.)

Additional parameters: Rhyming or not, (or a combination) and at least 20 lines.



To Ken - My Husband


I see ...

... you watch me when you are concerned--
worry crinkles up your brow, lips compress
in a straight line, jaw set and that one bone
sticks out farther on the left than on the right.

... as you react, puzzled,
to something I've written and you don't get it,
aren't sure how to react and
try to hide that from me.

... that smile when you return home
from a long, long day at work, when
you are clearly exhausted but the smile still
goes all the way to your eyes.

... you alseep in your chair,
muscles relaxed. Cares and years fallen away.
In those moments, the man of over thirty years ago
peeks out, ready for anything.

... the tears that roll down weathered cheeks:
opened mouth laughter that erupts out of you,
silly giggles running amok and too, the tears that rained
when we lost Bear. Pain is a look on you I least like to see.

... you singing. Proud, humble. Just you being you.
Or playing the drums, eyes closed - never missing the beat.
Confindence shines through, illuminating you.
You shine.

... the great-grandfather holding your namesake.
Head straighter, chin held high as you pronouce
he's your great-grandson; he has your chin.
It's a good look on you.

... the dad standing up for a daughter taller then
by at least a foot as pride stretched you ... the dad
holding his little girl who's crying and concern etches
each line deeper as you try to absorb her pain.

... the boy you still are inside, the one
chasing down his dad on the way back from the barn
or rolling on the ground with the dog. That same one
who is beyond excited first day of hunting or on Christmas morn.

... the man you are with laughlines chisled deep,
and wrinkles earned from living sixty-six years. That
look others see too, when you look at me
and you think I don't see.

... gentleness, the softness that blossoms when you hold me,
eyes tracing my features,
a quirk of a smile that is mine alone,
that squint as you focus close, all on me.

... how photo comparisuns, then and now,
would insist you've aged in theirty-some-odd years.
My filters negate that, I suppose, formostly I see
the same man, wearing his western hat; asking me to dance.

... you are exactly the same, then and now,
except that you aren't. I see that, too.
More complete, wiser. Not as young as you used to be,
even though you refuse to believe it.

~~~

I will never tire of looking at you:
there's a comfort in it, salt and spice,
because one thing I've learned over the time--
I never see the same you twice.