Drywall and Grace

A crystal chandelier hung above.

An evergreen candle flickered—

pine fresh, love, a tree in a forest.

We lay on the oak table, sweat pooling

after forbidden sex.

Her strawberry hair hid her crimson blush.

Disaster was the first time 

I learned love was more than getting even.

I adjusted to fate behind the faith

I left for truth,

wallowing in temptation.

A crooked skyline shaded doubt.

We worked through her struggle with the bottle.

She smiled, joked, 

her head on my shoulder 

as we watched a movie.

But when she had too much liquor,

it was a short story, a horror story.

I spent dollar bills and kept the change,

saving for the rent deposit—

for the holes Rylee punched in drywall

in drunken brawls,

then she'd pin me down,

spill her love,

and promise to stop drinking.

When she made progress,

I softened my tone and encouraged her.

She encouraged me to stay,

returning to the woman I knew I'd marry.

Kind smile, 

goofy jokes, 

burnt dinner,

good in bed. 

My faith resurfaced

as a serene whisper.

My heartstrings strummed

a sappy tune that made us cry,

growing into hymns of grace.

Rylee repaid all she'd broken.

I released the facade of bitterness

and invited her back in,

where she’d never really left.

By Andy Cooper

From: United States

X: AC0040