I didn’t know what it meant—
my father washing dishes,
or carrying a heavy load
of laundry.

Dreaming of love
lit by candlelight
and roses, I didn’t see

that when my father told my mother,
“I’ll get that,”
he gave her sweet bouquets
gathered after work:
blanket flower, buttercup, honeysuckle.

Jennifer L. Freed usually writes poetry but likes the challenge of micro-fiction. She recently had a 100-word story, “The Lesser,” published in The Citron Review. Her website is jfreed.weebly.com.