Micropoetry Monday: Love Story

Sepia heart

Martin was into building blocks,
Mary, dollhouses.
He liked to build homes,
she liked to decorate them.
When a bulldozer named Suzie—
a wannabe homewrecker—
came along,
she was bested by these newlyweds,
for when they’d gotten married,
they had thrown away the receipt.

When she looked across the table—
over candlelight & roses
& dinner for 2—
she wasn’t reminded of why she’d said yes
but rather,
why she’d continued to say it.

He was a comedy of manners,
she, a comedy of errors.
When they fell in love,
going so far as to do
that nauseating heart thing
with their hands at sunset
(becoming an Instagram cliche),
she realized she’d taught him how to lighten up,
to not be afraid of putting off others
for not being a put-on,
even as he’d taught her how to apply a little polish—
not to cover up who she was,
but to reveal the wonderful woman she was
underneath the social awkwardness
that she had learned,
out of necessity,
to embrace.

Writer’s Digest Wednesday Poetry Prompt #477: Leap of Faith

Rock and Amber Had a Girl

When Amber jumped into marriage,
it was a leap of faith–
like pole-vaulting onto sand.
A little child,
not yet born,
had led them to the rock garden
where diamonds were forever.
When Amber had their daughter,
whom they named Ruby,
she looked into her baby’s eyes
as the nurse told her that doing so
was like looking into the future.
She’d laughed and said,
“Who can see what they cannot know?”
Yet forty years was the year
of the Ruby anniversary;
however, when that time came,
it was not the future she saw
but rather,
the past,
for the living Ruby
was the same age
as her father had been
when the nurse had,
inadvertently,
made her prophecy.

Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 477