Thoughts On My Father's Valentine

Mom's love for Dad was
the lowest string of a violin--
deep and (to me, their child) unsurprising:
a kiss and his lunch box every afternoon
before he left for his shift,
a smile just between them,
and, as the day neared its end,
"Kids, let's do a 'quicky pickup'
so the living room is nice
when Dad gets home.'"
The G is the thickest string,
slow to break, able to stretch
(I think) to heaven.