Some Years

an anniversary poem

Some years

we bend our ears,

folded back,

marking times gone by

with a crease in a smile or the eye.

//

Some years

there is no time to fold.

Instead we press our hands

along the creases of time

smoothing out what we can.

Unfolding, settling into today.

August six, twenty-twenty-six.

We got married under a blistering sun,

a lot like today.

//

Some years

we buy discount Collins glasses

from Home Goods

and fill them with smashed blackberries

and Cocchi Americano and champagne.

Because we're twenty-one now baby

//

So we'll cheers and sip

clinking our glasses

with creases in our eyes

gratitude on our lips,

settling into the unfolding crease of today.

All twenty-one years folded in.

8.6.05