I looked at her daily cat
a tabby snoozing
looking like Sweetpea
her favorite of our three.

Then the big red thirty
lept out at me
pried a recall
from dense wasteland
of my memory:
Today’s our anniversary!

With the troubled void
somewhere between stomach and chest
the approaching avalanche:
How could I forget?
The busyness of Christmas?
The big computer project?
Incipient dementia?

Too late for a gift
before she awakens.
My God!
What do I do?

A poem. A poem
might rescue me.

So here I am
hoping that a moment
of inspiration will emerge
from the toilet of guilt
upon which I sit.

Then like sand dripping
in an hour glass…
the sum of our love
began to gather:
the choices of yes
the voices of no
miracles of forgiveness
started to flow
tears of shared sadness
shrieks of sheer joy.

That is the stuff
of a marriage
not cards or parties
or flowers or rings.
That is what matters
that is what sings.

12/30/2008

Author's Note: Dedicated to my wife Helen on our thirty-ninth.

Posted on 12/30/2008
Copyright © 2024 Glenn Currier