Poem: August 10, 2019

Wedding

Suppose we were to marry again,
starting today, the whole process
from proposal to wedding night.

What would you hope to remember

if you could concentrate all that is
the two of us, distill our ideas about
ourselves and our future lives into
the swirling density, the sweeping
complexity of a wedding day,

with all of its lists and decisions,
the vows and songs and venues,
the toasts and menus, what would
you want to remember in 10 years?

What decision could possibly linger?

Would we gather in a church or
in a forest, or on a beach?

Would I wear a tie? Would you
wear white?

Would we make a toast, alone,
by candlelight?

Pasta? Muffalettas? Open bar?

Would we invite our friends
to say a few words? Would
anything need to be said?

Every decision a reflection,
a definition, a wish we tie to
ourselves and to our future selves,
a paragraph we take our time
in writing, and why wouldn't we

want to place ourselves there
in the center of ourselves, drawing
plans like architects and dreaming?