The Gift of the Fifth Year
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.