This is a very long post, three wedding poems! to make up for my not being here for three weeks. My wedding day was the best day of my life. My children's births and adoptions rank equally, but all were there AND my beloved. It was smoky, but the clouds parted, it was overwhelming to plan an execute a DIY wedding, but the results felt like ours. We had soooo much help, it was so much fun to create and share with dear friends and family. There might be a few more wedding poems and soon out will be a book dedicated to my now husband, Adam.
Second Marriage Registry
We are not able to suggest Pelvic floor repair,
or mention my car has two dents,
that my groom’s brakes are squeaking,
he needs a tooth crowned,
so we cruise through the websites of REI,
Crate and Barrel, Amazon.
We are a Cyber god and goddess
creating a world with a click of the computer mouse,
cheeseboards and serving ware
fly into a virtual shopping cart.
We request cutlery as spoons and forks,
little tridents and anvils
have been absconded by our teenagers.
There are so many more wedding traditions now
as in It's a THING...
Escort cards
Anniversary cakes
and First Looks.
Weddings are brands complete with
fonts and picture filters,
tutorials suggest focusing
on the guest experience.
I remember excuses to drink,
tacky tents with plastic windows,
rushing for the bouquet toss
which I read is now considered single shaming.
We create a wedding profile
on a hosting site called the Knot
On its homepage, newlyweds scroll in a slide show,
men marrying men,
women, one in a suit, one in a dress,
couples in every permutation of body size and skin hue.
It's a whole new world, it's glorious.
Pizza is offered instead of prime rib,
cake is traded for tiers of doughnuts,
everything is presented on oak barrels
and explained on chalkboards,
weddings are held in empty warehouses.
Suddenly I am on trend, my bare feet are bohemian.
Our registry reflects our wedding preparation,
we feel a little crazy, we are a lot lazy.
Instead of standing in heels,
I want to lay down on a blanket,
recite my vows with my nose
nestled in my love’s armpit.
We don’t have time to take salsa lessons,
but according to brides with YouTube channels
our slow dance nuzzling won’t be a wedding fail.
We choose nubby place mats
and earthen bowls, we venture a backpacking tent.
Gifts begin to arrive
in boxes big and small,
it feels so abundant,
we’ve got so much already,
our children grown and growing.
I let the presents sanctify
what this union feels like.
Naked Cake,
Hen and Buck Party,
Top Shelf.
Shopping for your Wedding Suit
It seems superfluous
that we will claim one another
so formally
you in a new suit,
me in a dress,
I insisted on lace.
When you tried on your jacket,
blue and slender fitted,
so different from the boxy
brown in your closet,
you did these cool Rocky boxing moves.
We misplaced your phone.
The alteration employee was sexy
and had an Eastern European accent.
She knelt to adjust your hem,
her face at crotch level.
I added being Tatyana the Tailor
to my roster of fantasies.
Yesterday
at Macy’s of all places
I felt again,
I do, I have, I will.
As I did this morning
in the shower
when you
conditioned my hair.
Wedding Vows Not Spoken
I vow to keep apologizing after
my default is to initially interrupt
you and say no.
To keep trying to figure out
what to do with your balls
during certain sex acts
and to be patient when you
go too fast even when though
I’ve asked you to be slow.
I vow to stack the dishwasher better
and to stop joking about other men,
to say I love your penis,
not I love penises.
I vow to not wear only gray
or cargo shorts and polo shirts
so we don’t look like golfing buddies.
I vow to stop using the bread knife
to cut things other than bread,
or at least to admit it.
I vow to not tell you how to parent,
and to not take it personally
when you tell me how to.
I vow to not always read before bed,
to sometimes turn off the light and roll toward you,
to not always wear a shirt to bed,
or at least to keep pulling it up
when I spoon you,
to keep pressing my breasts against you.
I vow to be pearl, sometimes effervescent,
to keep cultivating my singular joy
but making it plural with you,
to keep discovering myself
and bringing my discoveries
to you first,
to fight back and stop retreating,
to stop leaving you when I am hurt,
I vow to allow you your attractions,
your factions, your afflictions.
I vow to talk louder and stop mumbling,
to think a little more before I speak,
but to also speak before overthinking.
I vow to look at you more,
especially when we make love
and move my mouth more when we kiss
and to remember to use my hands
during all of the above especially when you are on top.
I vow to be your wings, nest and mettle.
I vow to be less judgmental,
a little less mental,
to not let my introversion
be a crutch or stop me from
watching football with you at the neighbor’s.
I vow to sing.
I vow to appreciate your attachment to
your possessions and passions.
I vow to keep being enraptured by you,
captured by you,
that you will always be my favorite way to spend
Wednesday work night, Friday date,
Sunday morning.
I vow to take my shoes off in the house,
to let you be equal in our temple.
To resist temptation.
I vow to not sit in the car
when you run into Costco,
to be a barnacle if you are stone.
I vow to never give up or
give in if I won’t respect you by doing so,
to learn when I have pushed you too far.
I vow to remember you are a man
and do things and feels things differently,
but more than your manliness
you are tender and human.
I vow to repair.
I vow forgiveness and to ask for forgiveness.
I vow to tend your wounds,
those I inflict and those that came before me,
to be interested in your stories,
especially those I have already heard.
I vow to be a co-creator of our story.
I vow to encourage you to be
wholeheartedly you.
I vow to always be me.
I vow to be first and forever Us.
Meteor shower, garden flower.