I met my husband
            Rocking on the porch
            After dinner;
            The bluebonnets were out
            And he was new in town
            Moved from Minnesota,
            Delivered our paper
            He did, every evening
            New boy on the block.
            He was shy but not so shy
            He didn’t sputter a few  
            Words that first night.
            The words grew into sentences,
            Sentences into paragraphs,
            Paragraphs into a proposal
            That swept me off my porch
            And out of Texas
            Clear into the state of matrimony.
            We live in California now.
            There are patches of poppies
            But no bluebonnets
            Apartments and papers
            But no porches.
            My husband teaches
            And I sit evenings
            By myself at his desk, silently
            Typing his words.

—Erna Kelly, Eau Claire, WI