For Years, Now
by Aimée Primeaux
For years, I’ve worn you like a dim tattoo,
Some ink from long ago inside me now,
A tree on skin, lines curved and faded blue.
A reminder, a talisman, a vow.
You came into my life when I was young.
I was small then, so I was swept away,
Pulled out with the tide, untethered, undone.
You held me closely, drifting through the fray.
I cried because I knew it was the end.
You cried; our kids now from a broken home.
My heart torn out, I turned away in love.
For to love you was to leave you alone.
My joy, my peace, is a tree in the tide,
A tall mark on the horizon, my guide.
Some ink from long ago inside me now,
A tree on skin, lines curved and faded blue.
A reminder, a talisman, a vow.
You came into my life when I was young.
I was small then, so I was swept away,
Pulled out with the tide, untethered, undone.
You held me closely, drifting through the fray.
I cried because I knew it was the end.
You cried; our kids now from a broken home.
My heart torn out, I turned away in love.
For to love you was to leave you alone.
My joy, my peace, is a tree in the tide,
A tall mark on the horizon, my guide.
Aimée Primeaux has always been a poet in private, writing as a way to express and process, but rarely sharing her work with the world. Now, in middle-age, she has enjoyed bringing her poems out of the shadows. Her work often focuses on loss, motherhood, and the tragic beauty of change. In addition to writing, she is a sailor, gardener, and mother of two. She has degrees in literature, history, and library/information science and works for the US government.