Two years. March 23, 2021 marked two years that I have been blessed to call Jesse my bride.

Time is a strange thing. In one sense, it seems as if we’ve been married a matter of weeks. I’m always finding out something new about her – what she likes and what she doesn’t – and hearing more tales from her childhood and what she dreamed of when she was young and lived up North in Cheboygan Michigan, which she always describes by putting out her hand, pressing her fingers together while pointing to the top of her middle finger and saying, “I lived at the top of the mitten.”

But in another sense, I can’t think of a time without her. She has so permeated my thoughts that I mentally picture her in my memories of childhood.

In one of my books on writing, the author offered a tip on how to improve the words one uses and how to better the flow from thought to page. To keep one’s prose from becoming too prosaic, he suggested branching out, trying one’s hand at poetry and haiku.

I figured I’d follow suit and try my hand to describe thoughts about my bride and publish them for y’all to read. Many thanks to my friend, Brandon, who helped me greatly.

Without further adieu, this is a poem I wrote for Jesse to read on our anniversary.

A poem for “My Chickadee.”

My bride, My Jesse, my sweet Chickadee,

With precious sanguinity you greet me

When you wake;

Filling our unlit bower,

Softly crooning in that hour,

Words muffled under tunnel,

Singing, lungs in struggle,

“I love you.”

Pushing voice through whirring machine

Supporting your precious, tender wings

That were clipped by the God of love.

Yet still you sing to our God above,

“Complete in Him,”

And fly from tree to tree with wings you were given,

Chirping, encouraging every creature under heaven.

And I, the Crow, of bent and furrowed brow,

Cawing long and often of other fowl

Whose bones dwell under gravestones;

Repeating thoughts of these greater, buried beings.

Why, my bird, rest you under these wretched wings?

Why join your sweet voice with mine,

Racing toward this poor passerine?

Completely unworthy of this love,

Wings mottled with the guilt that tugs and tears,

Often caught in the world’s tempting snares.

But you call me no Crow,

Only, “My own, my own,

Blue Bird.”

Perching on your seat

You sing as I repeat

Every word and every vow,

As we rest on this our bough.

“I love you,” “I love you.”

“With all my heart,” “All of my heart.”

“Until death do us part.” “Till death do us part.”

Happy anniversary, my love. God bless you.

Joseph Hamrick is a semi-professional writer and sometimes thinker. He lives in  Commerce and serves as a deacon at Commerce  Community Church (C3). He can be reached at  jhamrick777@gmail.com

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