in that hideous yellow lace dress

that my own mother insisted I buy

I sit uncomfortably on the couch

that your father  used to beat you on

when your mother comes in

she is all grace and big smiles

and I hate the think

I have to undo this woman's wrongs

but when I see your little brother

I think  of a younger you

I think of our future kids

I think of protecting him

and we all sit down

to say grace and eat

your father regards you

with colder eyes

and I regard you

with shaky smiles

meeting your family

the portrait perfect one

with a frame you could never fit

and broken glass I had to clean up

I am taken apart

by the random urge to whisper in your ear

"one day you won't have to pretend

we will have more than a portrait

more than still frames

we will have a whole moving picture

with the brightest moving colors and the sweetest laughter

and our little boy will look just like you"

but I just squeeze your hand

and kiss your cheek

and you'll know what I really mean

theres no pretendng here.

theres only love here.