It’s the day, our fiftieth anniversary, well on our way
to dying. The sky has turquoised, the porch is swept,
and we’re parched for each other like gravlax. We sip
lemon-green tea on the swing and play a game
of remember when. Maybe this is perfection, I fear,
and perfect doesn’t mean forever, after all. So I fumble
for your buckle and I take you— familiar like a house—
between both hands, and I shiver you for the thousandth
time. You unbutton my cardigan like a pianist,
and I show you my skin, speckled as wild cod, breasts soft
like two hammocks. We sway like this—the wind
of our whole lives pushing us forward.
Maria Giesbrecht
Maria Giesbrecht is a poet based in Guelph, Ontario. Her work has previously been published in Contemporary Verse 2, Talon Review, samfiftyfour, Gyroscope, and elsewhere and is forthcoming in Canadian Literature and Queen's Quarterly. She hosts the virtual writing table, Gather, and can be found at www.mariagiesbrecht.com or @theguelphpoet on Instagram.
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