Precious Metal

Dec 28 2011

This anniversary

is 65 years.

They must look back

proud, but astonished.

My parents, married

in the last century

go gamely on.

A small ceremony,

suitably modest

owing little to God

all the witnesses gone

by now,

but still, they keep their vows.

No milestone number.

No precious substance

to commemorate 65.

So I will call it steel,

the tensile strength

that holds against

temper, and minor transgression.

That is not compressed, or deformed

by the pent-up storms

of argument

annoyance.

Some might say

duty

force of habit

fear of change.

So is this inertia

or is it love?

I don’t mean infatuation

consuming passion.

I mean the grown-up love

of fondness, attachment,

that only comes

with the passage

of years.

A weld so tough

2 become 1.

Solid steel, just a little rust,

drop-forged, hot-rolled

well-honed.

Strong enough

to last a lifetime.

I originally wrote this as “63”. (My counting ability leaves something to be desired!) Of course, the poem works much better that way, since “3” rhymes with “steel”, and “63” is suitably uneven:  more like the number you pass on the way somewhere than the destination. Furthermore, I consulted Wikipedia, and apparently there is a precious metal for 65 — the Blue Sapphire. On the other hand, so few people make it to 65 that hardly anyone knows this, and even fewer care. So in the end, “65” works almost as well. …And one can hardly let those 2 extra years go unrecognized!