Hands together

His large hand,

my smaller one

partnered like always.

The hands are older now

The rings,

 scuffed and tarnished.

They've seen some things,

these rings have.

Dinged and dented, 

and lived in the heat of life.

Pulled weeds in dirt,
washed dishes,
changed tires and oil...
(well, only his).
They're rings--
circles of hurts and joys alike.

The hands are wrinkled,

sometimes stiff with age,

with the cares that come
from changing diapers,
teaching children
to walk,
tie shoes,
ride bikes,
drive cars,
drive away.
Hands that sometimes have to

hold too much at once
(even for hands as large as his).

But holding together.

I try to remember what 

they looked like new,

these rings,

these hands together.

What we 

imagined 

growing old together 

would actually look like

It's this.

Tarnished rings,

Older hands.

Doing it together.

Hand in hand. 

Mine on his.

Partners.

Thirty years ago,

we got on a plane together 

to fly to Holland as friends.

By the time we flew 

back to the United States

six months later,

we were hand in hand

for good.

For GOOD.

I wouldn't have kept 

these rings clean and pretty.

Life is messy,

we get bumped

and dinged,

 and tarnished.

But that's the way

to make the

 rings,

and life itself, 

get the best 

shine.