Eleven

Life knocked and waited 

delayed breath – a boy! 

You nearly fainted. 

Breathe in health;

Breathe out fear. 

We chanted loudly

for only three to hear. 

Look at us now; we made it. 

Mom and Dad and Townes

for nothing could it be traded. 

Breathe in health;

Breathe out fear.

Together, always – 

another year. 

nine

Do you remember breaking up in

high school

college

and those 20 minutes in 2010?

Me neither.

 

Do you remember crying over

new cities

empty back accounts

and eating beans for a whole week?

Me neither.

 

Do you remember fighting about

dirty dishes

tree roaches

and those seven years of no sleep?

Me neither.

 

Do you remember

that girl?

that guy?

that time we realized there were other people in the world?

Me neither.

 

Do you remember saying, “I do”?

Me too.

 

our wedding

 

 

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Eight Years

Year One

Rules:

(1) Don’t touch my face or

(2) Watch me shower or

(3) Slap my ass in public or

(4) Open pickle jars for me or

(5) Wake me up before I’m ready or

(6) Let me oversleep or

(7) Say anything about working out or

(8) Buy me flowers when you know I like plants or

(9) Open doors for me or

(10) Tell me not to cry.

DO YOU UNDERSTAND? 

I don’t like tree bark or pomegranate seeds or when roots cling to plants that are already dead.

DO YOU UNDERSTAND? 

I can’t think about space. DON’T MAKE ME. There are too many little parts in one picture; too many small things swirling together. Dark Matter. Gas. How did you even find me?

I DON’T UNDERSTAND.

I like birds because they are bovine. You are the only one who knows that. They are not feeble or angelic! Eight hollowed bones in each wing and they spend all day nesting. MORONS.

NO ONE ELSE UNDERSTANDS. 

Year Eight (365 days times 8 plus 2 leap years and 3 hours)

Rules:

(1) Never leave me.

DO YOU UNDERSTAND? 

You are my star; my nested bird in chaos.

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