Condensed History, with Silver Pin
He bought the tickets—he worked
in the city then. I was home for winter
break. I hadn’t seen him since September.
He was saving money to go to Europe
for a year. I was still a senior. In love
with someone else, I’d written to him
weeks before. He read the letter
in the lunchroom at work. But there
were the tickets, the plan. So we went
to the Garden, cheered for Michigan
(we lost). He left for Europe weeks later.
I married. He sent a silver pin
from Greece by way of congratulation.
Two decades later, two marriages each,
we found our way back to each other.
Doubts, still, but after many years,
marriage. I hardly ever wear the silver pin.
I’m afraid to lose it, it’s so delicate.
*
Lynne Knight is the author of six full-length poetry collections and six chapbooks. Her work has appeared many journals, including Poetry and The Southern Review. She lives on Vancouver Island.
