What I Choose to Remember

Somewhere in a book
some Seasons of Marriage,
we might look,
say “ahhhhh...”

Explained at last that fateful day (page 12)
when the scales of limerance and friendship inevitably teeter into balance

The statistically average point (page 23)
at which couples buy matching jammies.

The exact year (page 40)
when couples can reasonably expect to begin finishing each other’s

That particular moment (page 72)
when the last disputed domestic chore
rolls over, implacably, to one work sheet or the other.

That’s a boring book,
I decline to read it.

I write this book:

Remembering that fateful twilight (it was fall)
when your confettied irises first consumed me.

Evoking powerful images of that certain afternoon (it was winter)
when we exchanged our vows to celebrate life through each other.

Recalling one particular morning (it was summer)
when the sight of you dressing after a shower impaled my heart.

and of course, all the many times of scary day and lonely night
when your smile drenched my parched soul in glistening beads of kindness.

That's always spring.

—Carson Reed, March 2010