Ana Changed her Profile Photo
Amid all the postings of
Welcome to the planet, Baby Betsy.
Our little Charlie takes his first step.
Bobby wears his new boots to school
My groovy tattoo of Obama.
Or
Can you believe it? Here we are in Tibet
meditating with the monks.
—this one catches me up short.
The
photo of a man and a woman—a close-up. They are not young. He’s sitting behind
her and leans his head on her shoulder.
His glasses are sliding off his nose as he rests against her. She is looking at some fixed space in the
distance, her reading glasses parked on her head. Yet I sense she feels him there. His arm is
around her shoulder and she’s taken his hand.
I stare at the photo, blush and turn away, my own poverty revealed by
such stark, radiant intimacy. They are
so comfortable, you see, each contained in the other.
Ana is my Facebook
friend. She’s a psychologist, as is her
husband. She taught me to knit. Every
Monday morning as we ply the needles on our way to crafting yet another Granny
quilt, we talk about sexuality, intimacy, the value of fidelity, the relief
that comes with forgiving.
Ana’s changed her profile photo.
With one postage-stamp image, talk of defining intimacy somehow becomes
superfluous.
“Our hearts are
restless, until they rest in Thee.” I wonder if St. Teresa might have been
mistaken.
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