for Mom and Dad on their anniversary
Mostly I remember them holding hands.
Not swinging over rivers filled with crocodiles.
Not passionately kissing on the edge of a canyon.
Not jumping from planes, though they did scuba dive.
I remember them peeling and chopping
thirty pounds of carrots they bought bulk
so they can freeze them. I remember them
cleaning the boat. I remember them stopping
for rummage sale signs on Saturdays and sitting
in the back row of the church on Sundays
and sitting on the couch holding hands
on most days. And even so Dad isn’t here
today on their anniversary, he is here.
I remember how they shaped each other with their love
in an everyday way, year after year after year,
then offered that love to me, to the world.
