I sat at a kitchen table
in a rented cabin.
I took a sip of gin on the rocks.
The burn in my mouth cooled
the anxiety in my throat.
Alisha lit a cigarette
and pushed her issues
with her mother across her teeth.
Alisha took a puff
and blew the smoke through her nostrils.
Gusts had disrupted the power.
A candle flickered through shadows
of our movement as the only light,
in a place we’d intended
on spending Thanksgiving.
I finished my gin
and pushed the glass away
and I listened.
I gave Alisha an engaging gaze.
I held my head in my hands,
elbows propped on the table.
We invited our family
for a potluck dinner.
Drinkers had to arrive
with their own brew.
I stared as the flame danced.
It had something to tell me.
I’d concluded that I didn’t want to know.
Alisha motioned for me to speak.
I thank her for being here
and going nowhere.
God knows I haven’t been the best
to live with.
Alisha said that the candle reflected
a smile on my face.
The candle told me that I was happy.
I reached into my breast pocket
and slid my hand across the table.
I asked Alisha to marry me.
Alisha threw her hands to her eyes
and brushed streams of crystals
that welled in her eyes.
Alisha told me she’d been waiting
for this moment.
I guess that was a yes,
and she said yes.