His smile grated into the sky above their favorite church
Its stained glass windows, she claimed
were more beautiful at dusk than any other time of day
as auburn sky melted behind tired trees and the field of corn
where they had first kissed.
The memory of unpatched screen doors and unused china
are as familiar as the broken engines that
littered the porch and yard, possibilities clinging like
too tight wedding bands.
They remember her order at Peg and Bill’s. Coffee. Black.
Eggs with sourdough.
Extra apricot jam.
When he would come home in the morning
clothing damp with sweat and
sadness hanging from his slumped shoulders
they would make the music of droplets on tin roofs
their private slow dance.
Their anniversary passed again this year
and Peg and Bill still remember her breakfast order
and his slumped shoulders
and their too tight wedding bands.
Author Bio:
Cody Haight was born in Wellesley, Massachusetts. She now resides in Gloucester, Massachusetts. In her free time she enjoys free writing, spending time with her family, and taking walks with her dog, Jake.