You twist, you spin, I pull you apart; you are my favorite wedding gift. Years have passed. The avocado colored bowls, plates, and cups have cracked, chipped, and splattered–thrown out in the garbage can, also since replaced. How do you throw away a garbage can?

You are my favorite wedding gift.

You are dependable and full of life, easy to convince. At your best you come through when I need you. Paper airplanes and renegade shoes have flown across rooms to kill visiting spiders; picture frames were hit and dented the floors. They didn’t last.

Sometimes I leave you empty. I leave you alone, cornered and defaulted. Apart of my every day and every meal I eat. You watch with silence with nothing to say, and when I always eventually remember, you soak up my tears and find room to forgive a selfish heart. The vacuum doesn’t forgive. The vacuum gave up after two years and three months; though it still makes noise, it doesn’t do much else; I have always preferred your silence.

You are my favorite wedding gift.

Years have passed and the TV was sold, the sowing machine left behind, and the car could only fit so much when it moved across the country, looking forward. The silverware fit, though bent, and the knives were dull. The clothes fit, since out of style in a garbage bag in the closet, destined, like all else but you to leave. The salad spinner didn’t fit.

The coffee table was too cheap for long-term plans; it broke apart, built to deconstruct. I’ve seen you hit your head and I’ve seen you fall and fail. You don’t show pain and sometimes I worry.

You are my favorite wedding gift.

The spice rack rests comfortably above the stove, emptied minus celery seed and dill weed, and though the rack still spins, who needs celery seed and dill weed? You always have a place in my home, surely, our home.

Your awkward smile and skinny frame, your staunch stubbornness and dark skin, your posture. I love putting my hands on you. I can feel you when you need me, and maybe, that is why I love you.

You are my favorite wedding gift, paper towel holder. I could not have cleaned the counters as many times as I have, flawlessly and efficiently, without your guiding rip.

Well of course. What were you thinking?