Everyday Signs by Jack Christian

Since we got engaged, I keep track of the signs we are right with the universe:

The yellow-flowering orchid I bought the day I proposed lost all its buds two days later.

The jade plant that marks our first year of dating died when summer ended.

When I proposed, I imagined a picnic on top of Mt. Tom, but I didn’t plan it. I couldn’t wait. I got down on my knee in the kitchen.

We got engaged over the summer purposefully during the week between visiting Anna’s and then my parents.

My old Toyota Corolla was silver-colored and lasted nine years. My new Toyota Corolla is gold. My Goldsmobile. The Gold Standard. I drive it more slowly, this The Car of My Thirties.

Since we moved in together each piece of furniture we’ve purchased has appeared for-the-taking on the curb across the street.

A month after we hashed out a wedding budget, I lucked into a second job and Anna inherited money.

The orchid still sits on our porch, a brown stalk with intricate, wispy branches.

From the giant spider plant another couple gave us when they moved out of town we’ve made five new spider plants.

Each morning lately, I step onto the small balcony off our kitchen, and then I hear myself say, “Let’s get a check of the weather!”

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Jack Christian is the author of the chapbook Let’s Collaborate from Magic Helicopter Press. His poems are upcoming in Web Conjunctions and have appeared recently on the web in Drunken Boat, Sixth Finch, Ink Node, I Thought I was New Here, and Cimarron Review. He is from Richmond, Virginia and now lives in Northampton, Massachusetts.