I always grieve for those caught between
a rock and and hard place. No matter how
they turn, they knock a knee or scrape a nose.
Not us. With you I am always between
a rock and a soft place. Our joined hands
are a rock, paper, scissors game. Rock:
a kind of cave dwellers home, the warm, red
earth of your arms, pueblo-like. Paper: all
the books we’ve read to each other. Scissors:
you know when to cut our losses; I tend
to endure. Between us--what is it? Comfort.
But a cat is good for that. Happiness,
which could also be a day at any
amusement park. Whatever it is,
it has grown over time, is more than I
thought at twenty-something and also less
than nothing--we are so twinned by time.
Paula Schulz has been involved in several ekphrastic collaborations. She has taught grades pre-K through college, lives and writes in Slinger, Wisconsin, with her husband, Greg.