To you, my dear husband of twenty-five years


Your lover is like:

  1. crocus amidst snow on the boulevard
  2. a cat spider on the other side of a white curtain
  3. reading glasses, taped
  4. the sound of a hammer swinging from a tool belt, its hickory handle loose


Kissing her is like:

  1. koi breaking the pond’s meniscus
  2. pilfering raspberries
  3. patching a bicycle tire
  4. cutting through a parsnip


Do her fingers feel like:

  1. wet grass at the ankles, finally
  2. dry rye tops brushing against your arms in the dark
  3. an annual, say, vanilla-scented purple heliotrope
  4. north wind in the ears


Does she taste like:

  1. carrots licked with soil
  2. a new word
  3. twelve-hour Gravol
  4. sealing an envelope, black as engine oil


Leaving is:

  1. camellia blooms on the lawn, petals fringed with decay
  2. a flat road framed by thirsty fields






Amber Higgins has just completed her BFA in Writing at the University of Victoria. She writes poetry and fiction, and has been longlisted for the 2016/2017 Galley Beggar Short Story Prize. She is Canadian-born and currently resides in Victoria, British Columbia, with her partner and two very kissable cats.