I glance at the clock, and it’s 11:10,
one minute shy of that best moment of our lives.
On the old yellow digital I had in Madison,
the seconds rolled over too.
A sacred time, in my mind, was 12:34:56.
I loved that clock.
If I saw that time, day or night, I could feel the magic.
The times when I thought about time.
Until I met this woman who believed 11:11 was the most magical time of all.
Hadn’t I ever heard of that?
Didn’t I know that scads of couples married on November 11?
Could I possibly imagine
how many weddings there would be on November 11, 2011?
Well, no, I couldn’t, 2011 being more than thirty years away,
and I very far from a visionary.
We were in love, if we set a date,
would we have to wait thirty plus years to wed?
Don’t be ridiculous, she said.
We could do it on 11/11, kick off the ceremony at 11:11.
I said, am or pm?
She laughed crazily, gave me a pitying smile.
A magical plan indeed.
I stood there on November 11 staring at my yellow digital clock,
watched the minute flip to 11:11.
The second time that day
for a sigh, a smile, a momentary memory of you.