Ana Changed her Profile PhotoAmid 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.
Can you believe it? Here we are in Tibet meditating with the monks.
—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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