After the Death of Their Child
How the memory wormed its way
into a photograph, leaving only paper.
How he piloted ever-lengthening flights,
taking blue comfort away from earth
while she stayed home with the houseplants,
their assemblage of books,
the knowledge she could find tarragon,
sage, any herb she’d ever need.
How they said nothing, and loved
each other even in another’s arms.
How he steered forward, she stood still;
he spoke, and she wrote it down. And they watched
across miles, miles of marriage
as the small voice between them grew up.
(inspired by the story of Charles and Anne Lindbergh)
–Jenny Land, Peacham, Vermont