I’ve only heard the story once.
It came straight from the source
but was parceled out through shot glasses.
Mom and Dad were high school sweethearts.
Back then and over there, their high school
segregated genders, which meant
it was harder to pass notes during math class,
harder to schedule study dates that were
glorified excuses for accidental contact.
It also meant their love was more destined.

They grew up in the same building.
His family, being only slightly richer,
lived on the ground floor
while hers took the 3rd.
They had a better view
but were less likely to survive in a fire.
Even though it wasn’t color,
he still had a television
and she, the daughter of war survivors,
feigned envy and walked down
the 2 flights every night
to pretend to watch movies.
She was really watching him.

They came from Hong Kong,
the largest town in China,
and took separate flights
halfway around the Earth’s circumference
only to both land in Chinatown
and move into apartments
just blocks from each other.
In the shuffle, she found another suitor
and to hear Dad tell it,
40 years later and swayed by hard liquor,
he was fat and mean
and ugly.

She went to his uncle’s store
every afternoon and talked Dad’s ear off
while he wiped down tables.
She’d whimper like a coyote
caught in a bear trap
but was careful to cover her face.
She could fake the sounds but not the tears;
Dad always makes Mom’s eyes shine.

She technically didn’t propose.
All she’d do was stand real close
and suppose her only escape
was if she were already married
to someone funny, caring, and strong.
At this point, she’d cross her arms,
study the corners of her eyes,
sigh, and count the seconds
it took Dad to take the hint
by tapping her finger on her Chin.
Notice, she never said she wanted someone intelligent,
just someone smart enough to be good to her.

If God and goodness reside
in the laughter of children
then Dad’s been good to Mom
exactly 4 times in his life:
a daughter twice
and a pair of sons who hold
brightness in their hearts and in their minds.
If Love were a light
then my parents’ marriage would be its house
and it would guide all the wayward ships
back home at night.
Watching Dad passed out
and listening to him snore
while Mom stands in the doorway
shaking her head,
I realized I could never outshine their love;
a matchstick can’t go toe to toe
with a bonfire. But I know
if I could just be a mirror
to their 40 year old lime light
then I wouldn’t have to worry
cause I’d be doing pretty alright.