this is how it will happen.
you will not get down on one knee.
we will not be in front of a bunch of strangers.
I will not be eating 40 dollar lobster and wiping
the melted butter on my dress.
when it happens, it will be quiet
and I won’t cry.
I will be doing some small thing with my hands
like cracking my knuckles or pretending to
play the piano to the sound of the birds outside.
it will be a statement, not a question.
I will call you an idiot and then say yes, anyway.
you will draw a ring on my finger
and then paint it gold.
our parents will laugh
when we tell them the story.
they will shake their heads and ask
where the hell we came from in that fond voice
that makes us think maybe we finally got something right.
I will keep painting my finger gold
until it isn’t enough and I paint my entire hand
like I am part trophy.
part remember this, please.
I will keep painting myself gold.
the sheets will be covered in it
so that when we sleep, we both hear it.
“yes. yes. yes. yes, you idiot. yes. yes.
for when you ask me to marry you | Caitlyn Siehl