The neighbor's grown kid was back home and getting married at the Fishermen's Hall.
I didn't expect to be called up. I'm a deckhand. I don't do speeches.
But someone shoved the mic in my hand and said you had something to say about love.
I thought of you, working the night shift on the cannery line while I sleep.
I talked about how we leave notes on the kitchen table, how the churchkey on my keyring opens our beer at odd hours.
I said love is just two people who keep showing up in the cracks between shifts.
Everyone laughed and clapped. But I was only talking to you.