Spring Fever

Twenty years in faithful harness, two kids, a mortgaged home
Sensibly content yet with a hint of something restless deep inside
The heady scent of Jasmine in the air
Or maybe in my mind.
Way too early in the season for Jasmine:
It was her favorite flower
And her name.

One never quite forgets that first big love
Though later loves may overshadow
That first love always squats smack dab in the midst of memory
Always lingering a little out of reach.
Teasing, taunting, playing what-if games in the black of night
When everything is dark inside your soul.

She was exotic, quixotic, frenetic, bombastic,
In a single word: wonderful.
But not the type one would choose to wed.
Neither suited to the silk nor to the kitchen
Far too wild and uncontrollable to fix a harness to
Or ever try to tame.

And there were worlds to conquer, ladders to climb, social skills to master
Conventions to uphold.
So I cast her loose to run with winds that swept the flagstones clean:
They cleaned my slate as well.
Married early and reasonably well, settled down to raise a brood
But never quite eliminated Jasmine
From my heart.

A weekend working on the house
Employing muscles that hadn’t seen hard work in years
I pulled something, a twinge, vaguely aching limbs, back spasms,
Anyhow it hurt.
My better half insisted I make a call
To a physical therapist she knew
Who worked wonders on the aging frame
(As she so kindly put it)

The physical therapist had no openings for weeks
But knew of a massage provider who might fit the bill.
I dialed and got a disembodied answering machine
Left my number and went back to work.
A small thing, perhaps,
But as luck would have it, hardly inconsequential!


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