Big enough for ten plus me

First Comes Love

When my father still had a job he would bring home key chains
left by diners in the restaurant where he would stand around
in his suit and tie and when he got home he’d give my mother
who’d be reading a book in bed a kiss and he would then hand
the key chain to me and I would all too eagerly toss away the key
to some door I would never think about at five and slip
the key ring over my thumb where the fit is most snug
and the next day my father having left for work my mother
having left her book on a table I would tap the windows
of neighbors and playmates then all of us would run to the empty
lot where we would build ourselves houses from discarded plywood
hang plastic bags for curtains and I would be making mud
cakes inside found bottle caps and I would smile at the grimy
boy who’d volunteered to be my husband and show him two
key rings free of dangling jagged shapes grooved free
of plastic icons and brand names and he would put the ring
on his ring finger and I would tell him to put the ring on my ring finger
the way it is in the movies that scene right before a man and a woman
kiss right before my mother slips her hand over my eyes right
before my father sends me out of the room saying Good night
as if he knew some secret he could never share no matter
how many consolations he brought home no matter how many times
my mother tilted her head up to his that she can accept his kiss.