Proud flesh

Tomorrow is mine and BJ's two year anniversary. It has been an interesting two years. We've finished college, BJ has found his calling, we've lived in the big city and discovered we're meant for the country, and we've had countless other adventures, many of which were a little bit painful and some that were bend-over-laughing funny. I can honestly say that I can't wait to see what the third year brings. Here is a poem for BJ. It's a love poem.

For What Binds Us
by Jan Hirshfield

There are names for what binds us:
strong forces, weak forces.
Look around, you can see them:
the skin that forms in a half-empty cup,
nails rusting into the places they join,
joints dovetailed on their own weight.
The way things stay so solidly
wherever they've been set down -
and gravity, scientists say, is weak.

And see how the flesh grows back
across a wound, with a great vehemence,
more strong
than the simple, untested surface before.
There's a name for it on horses,
when it comes back darker and raised: proud flesh,

as all flesh
is proud of its wounds, wears them
as honors given out after battle,
small triumphs pinned to the chest -

And when two people have loved each other
see how it is like a
scar between their bodies,
stronger, darker, and proud;
how the black cord makes of them a single fabric
that nothing can tear or mend.