Anniversary by Margaret Stetler


In kindergarten, you had kids
stick crayons up their noses
and walk around like walruses.
I was teacher’s pet, sang Mass
with nuns, made sacrifices.
I had designs on the paperboy,
took his little red wagon; tried
to sleep with a boy on his mat
at naptime. Carla became
a Brownie, learned to draw
horses so you would marry her.
You made a finger trap from
your milk bottle wire with intent
to torture. Now you and I play
games: cat and mouse, push
‘n pull, tit for tat. But flash back
to that first night when I refused
to let you get away. We touched,
we fit, we knew, and you said
you’d found “the One.” And on
this spring day, remember how
we, our long hair cut short, walked
into our life together. Without father,
mother, scripture, or God, we said
we’d take, we’d have, we’d do.
And we did, gladly, all these years.

by Margaret Stetler

Margaret on Facebook

Editor’s Note: I refuse to concede that love poems are dead. Happy anniversary, Maggie.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.