For My Husband on His 40th Birthday

I’m thinking
of demanding spousal rights
to your gallbladder
when the surgeon takes it out,
bringing it home in my purse,
one stone for an earring,
one stashed
in the locket you gave me,
the last one under my pillow
for dreamkeeping,
your name bile-tattooed
across my heart,
flesh of the precious organ
buried deep in the dirt
of the old angel-wing begonia
that’s flowered our marriage,
spindly reaching for the sun.