Poems From The Kitchen Table

(a poem about marriage)

You hold me down,

but I miss flying.

You say it’s love

this anchoring, this stillness

but I remember the weightlessness of dreams

before I learned to fall with you.

I used to think

marriage was a home,

a harbor where I’d finally rest.

But no one tells you

it’s really the most dangerous place to live.

A gamble wrapped in gold bands,

a contract signed in hope,

a business proposal

where the return is never guaranteed.

We offer up our softest parts

loyalty, kindness, the truth we barely know ourselves

and expect them returned,

shined,

sheltered.

But sometimes what comes back

is silence,

distance,

or nothing at all.

Some nights I think:

even gravity lets go eventually…

and it does.

Look up.

Space is full of places

where nothing pulls,

nothing holds,

nothing grounds.

And yet, the stars still burn.

They still exist

without needing to be caught.

Maybe love

isn’t supposed to trap us in orbit.

Maybe it’s meant to ask:

Would you still stay,

if you could leave?

How this poem was born:

I’ve been thinking a lot about how we romanticize marriage as a safe place, a home. But the truth is, marriage is risky. Just like life, it asks us to give everything without any guarantee of return. This poem is a love letter, not just to gravity, but to the idea of staying grounded in something that’s constantly shifting. A reminder that even what holds us down can sometimes let go.

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