Anne M. Horvath

THE HENCHMAN’S KNOT

We married in innocence.

Young and naive, we plunged
into the water’s matrimonial waves
without a thought
beyond the moment’s tide.

Never realized subtraction
could become a reality,
that lover could become strangers
from years of unyielding compromise.

Well-intended promises fell
from the geometric shape
of our mouths. No tantrums!
No Control! They would never
frustrate our expectation.

Nor would the brine of our parents
indifference
ever mutate into our passion.

With no counsel to guide us home,
years of loveless echoes
have turned the diamond’s brilliance
on my wedding ring
into a cold, hard stone.

—from Rattle #22, Winter 2004