I could have said...

...no. No, I won’t return your smile,

because it might lead to a date,

which might lead to a church,

and into a vow that would bind me

in sickness and in health.

...no. No, I won’t follow my father

into his world of line and deadline,

razor blades and wax, black ink

and persuasive typography.

...no. No, I will not open my heart to

the stray, to the weight of ownership,

to the promise that must be honored

that when illness or age can no longer

be fought, I will be the one to orchestrate

a gentle death.

...no. No, I will not venture out onto the

danger of icy roads, to a gathering in a

dark field around a bright bonfire.

...no. No, thank you, the cake you have

joyfully baked as a sign of celebration

will make me fat.

...no. No, you are but a tiny cold spider,

not worth the moment it will take me

to move you from harm’s way.

Instead, I have said...

...yes, I do.

...yes, I will follow.

...yes, come inside.

...yes, let us gather.

...yes, thank you, seconds please!

...yes, you are worth my time.

And my life is now a rich banquet

instead of an empty, waiting plate.