"This Is What I Have of You..."

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I'm the only one here
This is what I have of you:
You ordering me to sweep and dust the Parlor
You steaming off the wallpaper
You in front of a classroom of bored students
Digging up the dogwood tree
You working on the house smelling like sawdust and sweat
and designer cologne
You calling me at college to tell me how I'm supposed to feel
about Faulkner or Hemingway
You standing on the shoulder of route 150
bracing yourself against the pulse of the trucks rushing past
You succumbing to a rare moment of physical contact with me