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  • Writer's pictureAndie Kantor

On the Occasion of What Would Have Been Our Tenth Wedding Anniversary

Updated: May 26, 2021

You were seven years old the day we met

We watched a king crowned as he glared at me, the intruder

But I didn’t notice


You were eight years old the day I moved in

He’d handed me a key, though I was with another

Weeks later we kissed on the steps near my apartment.

The next night after Mexican food and long walks I stayed over

and never left.


You were nine years old the morning he broke the bedroom ceiling light

He was out of coffee. The dresser drawer came out so easily it seemed to fly.

Glass fell on me, in the bed

I cleaned it up


You were ten years old the day we wed

My gown shimmered with crystals as he looked at me with so much love

Ruby Red Slippers on my feet. We danced from such great heights.

I thought I would never love another


You were ten years old the day we decided to try

Excitement and joy and hope

Disappointment and fear and loss

5 angels then perfection


You were eleven years old the day we bought our home

I planted lemongrass, rosemary, and two red rosebushes

He mowed the lawn once. We had a picket fence.

I loved that lemon tree and its strange fruits


You were twelve years old the day Casey came to stay

Wiggling his way into my heart

Even though he was never really my dog


You were fourteen years old the night he overturned the couch on me.

I was angry and did not want to sleep in our bed.

I smashed into the wall and slid to the floor

The couch covered me like a tiny cave


You were fifteen years old the day we brought our son home

Our family, overjoyed. Everyone held the baby.

So bittersweet without his mother.


You were fifteen years old the day he left me the first time

“She’s a great mother,” he’d said. “She is magic.”

“You are unfuckablely unattractive. And stupid.”


You were seventeen years old the day he came back.

“I want my family together,” he’d said. We walked after the concert

I felt joy. I wanted that, too


You were nineteen years old the day I bought a house for my family

I showed him wedding pictures. He chose and I had them framed

I asked him many, many times to put them up

He never did


You were nineteen years old the night you looked me, insulted

“I will never sleep with your husband,” you’d said

Indignant tears in your eyes at my request for the truth


You were nineteen years old the day he sat across from me as I cried

“you will never know how much I love you,” he’d said

and “yes, we can renew our vows on our tenth anniversary next year.”


You were still nineteen years old later that same month

when he took you in his arms for the first time

In the house I’d purchased for my family

Your second lover


You were twenty years old the day he moved out

And into a new space with you

I wondered what it was like for you to have a man of forty-seven years

Losing his hair

Grunting over your beauty.


You are twenty years old today.

On this, the occasion of what would have been our tenth wedding anniversary.



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