Darling, for decades you have lived
with ancient Chinese coins, square holes
punched through their centers. Collecting,
cataloguing, weighing their merits.
You chart their journeys more certainly
than you could my own. Or I yours.
Love eludes calculation, enduring apart
from the grooves of figures and words.
We are that space contained by the metal
of marriage. Tonight by candlelight,
let's count out twenty pieces, then add
fifteen more for our daughter. Many coins
are flawed: off-balance, chipped, worn.
Of course we keep them—they, dearest of all.
Therese L. Broderick is a freelance poet and teacher residing in Albany, NY, with her husband and daughter. Her publication credits include Poet Lore (forthcoming), Spoon River Poetry Review, Puerto Del Sol, The Louisville Review, and elsewhere. Visit her “Ekphrasis” blog at poetryaboutart.wordpress.com.
