The Gift of the Fifth Year

Piece of wood.

Sometimes we hack at each other

Grip that handle and that blade

And swing

 

Aiming for those tender spots

Only lovers know

 

Hoping in that passion-blind moment

That the skin will split

That the blood will flow

 

And after the injury

We gape into the wound

And count the rings

1, 2, 3, 4, 5…

 

The tighter they are

The harder we become

 

And so we bury the hatchet

 

The gift of the fifth year is wood.

 

Each year I write a poem to commemorate our wedding anniversary using the traditional anniversary gift as the inspiration. Click the links below to read the series so far.