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.

In Madison.

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,

old faithful,

watched the minute flip to 11:11.

The second time that day

for a sigh, a smile, a momentary memory of you.

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