Grown

May, if anything, is a month of anniversaries. This May marks my parents' forty-seventh, my sister's eighteenth, Dad's first with Judy and the Marsherall's third. In May I celebrate my Un-versary with the same proud toast.

I used to be able to fit everything I owned in my car.

Before I was grown.

I arrived at that house with two trunks and some clothes.

We filled it with furniture and wedding gifts.

Cause we thought we were grown.

I packed away my composition books, charcoals and passport.

I gave up all my campus campaigns.

Cause I thought that was what you did when you were grown.

We ate dinner each night and watched Jeopardy.

We spent Saturdays at Home Depot.

Grown.

We considered buying a grave site.

It was over anyway.

We weren't in love but we had each other.

We had grown.

Apart.