Poem of Thanks by Sharon Olds

Poem of Thanks

Years later, long single, 

I want to turn to his departed back, 

and say, What gifts we had of each other! 

What pleasure - confiding, open-eyed, 

fainting with what we were allowed to stay up 

late doing. And you couldn't say, 

could you, that the touch you had from me 

was other than the touch of one 

who could love for life - whether we were suited 

or not - for life, like a sentence. And now that I 

consider, the touch that I had from you 

became not the touch of the long view, but like the 

tolerant willingness of one 

who is passing through. Colleague of sand 

by moonlight - and by beach noonlight, once, 

and of straw, salt bale in a barn, and mulch 

inside a garden, between the rows - once- 

partner of up against the wall in that tiny 

bathroom with the lock that fluttered like a chrome 

butterfly beside us, hip-height, the familiar 

of our innocence, which was the ignorance 

of what would be asked, what was required, 

thank you for every hour. And I 

accept your thanks, as if it were 

a gift of yours, to give them - let's part 

equals, as we were in every bed, pure 

equals of the earth.