Our first date was forty-four years ago.
At a park after dinner, you said
“The geese are all laughing at us.”
We were young. Unsure. Cautious. We laughed.
Our soft conspiracy continues into tonight’s starlight.
I read that Zelda Sayre went on her first date with F. Scott Fitzgerald on her birthday, July 24, 1918, and years later, in a letter to Scott, she wrote: “The night you gave me my birthday party … you were a young Lieutenant and I was a fragrant phantom, wasn’t I? And it was a radiant night, a night of soft conspiracy and the trees agreed that it was all going to be for the best.”
Image by Mihai Paraschiv from Pixabay
William married you on this date, 1582.
Eight years older, you seemed much wiser.
Later, you just seemed much older.
He to London. You with the kids.
I hope you had a beautiful garden.
(Sometime after their twins were born, William Shakespeare moved to London to pursue an acting career and only came back to Anne in Stratford occasionally. She never visited him in London. The couple spent most of the rest of their marriage apart, but Shakespeare moved back to Stratford when he retired from the stage, and they spent the last six years of his life together. She is buried next to him in the Church of the Holy Trinity in Stratford.)
Halfway between silver and gold, an anniversary
more than half a shared lifetime.
12,775 days together, very few spent apart.
A mathematics of breakfasts, kisses, crises, laughs,
whispered words in darkness that defy calculation.