On Being Married Two Years (a poem)

It’s probably still too early to tell,
but I think we’re jamming along just fine so far,
as husband and wife.

Our lives have picked up,
as they do around 30.
So many invites and obligations,
but we make the time to talk over really good coffee (because now we drink coffee, like adults)

(When did we become Adults
with bills and jobs and decisions like,
do you want to start a family?
And how much is too much money to spend on a gym membership?)

After two years, I know that your tone of voice is always caring,
your words truly never mean me harm.

After two years, I know that you think a lot more than you speak.
And I want to hear all of your thoughts.

After two years, I know you like my hands in your hair
and your back scratched
and when I hold your arm while we walk the dog.

They say it’s a marathon, not a sprint.
And I feel how this works now, though it’s only the start.

It’s not about any one moment, but the string of hours + days + months + years.
That this one pile of laundry actually doesn’t matter because we’ll do it
and there will be more.
Again and again.
Wearing our clothes. Piling them up. Sorting. Washing.
What does it matter if I do this load and you do the next?
So long as our clothes are still mixed up together.
So long as you still help me carry it down to the laundry room.
And help fold it all.
Or go pick up groceries while I am busy. Because we have to eat and if I add
One more thing to my to do list, I will cry.

You know this.
Like that time I was working late,
and you had bought food and made homemade guacamole.
So it was there, in a little glass bowl, under that yellow fridge light, for me, when I came home.

It really is the little things.

Like that time you told me not to worry about whatever anxiety was taking up space in my chest because it would all happen whether I planned or not.

After two years, I now know there’s no reason to pick a fight,
that I’m probably just tired.
And I need a nap.
And you will nap with me, and we will lay there, with the dog between us
And the floor fan humming,
and the curtains swaying,
and the swish of cars outside,
in the late afternoon light.
And my frustrations will ebb and my love for us will flow.

It’s probably still too early to tell,
but I think we’re jamming along just fine so far,
as husband and wife.