the parents anniversary

by Lucy Thynne

that on the last day of july
my father would tell the story
of how they had met
so young in photos i once saw
of an eighties blurred with rain
and home haircuts
how easily she had made
her impression and left it there
            that years later he would
follow her to pulsing cities
and countries now closed
to the rest of the world
            that they would marry
dress each other in light
a day so hot that sand
could boil to glass
she, a striped cat who purrs
he, a tamed bear.
            that they could repeat these words
a little different year by year
but by the same stellate night
that he could sleep in
the fourth chamber of her heart
and stay there and stay there