Monday, July 17, 2006

#83: July 15, 2006

Eleven years ago the sky was clear
and brutal blue--the yellow fireball sun
melted groomsmen, made bridesmaids' makeup run.
I, sunstroked, watched for my bride to appear.
Even the Baptist preacher sweated more
than normal, staining his button-strained suit.
We'd thought a garden wedding would be cute,
little dreaming the summer hell in store.

But then the music played, and I looked up,
and down she came, with petals in her train
like snowflakes, the garden blooming all around--
My love, delicate as any buttercup,
breathed toward me like a cooling autumn rain,
and I drank in her beauty like the ground.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay.