joyous and assured.
The county seal on their marriage license
flashes gold in the April sunlight.
Her cherry-blossom capris strut in time
with his pleated, baby-blue trousers.
Yet, what of this insurrection forming
amid the strands of her prized, auburn crown?
"Don't be ridiculous!" the bride protests,
stumbling over the threshold.
She is twenty-two years old,
cheeky and incandescent.
Her sterling charm bracelet
dazzles the songbirds.
Sunflowers and marigolds
stand at attention when she passes.
In the courtroom, he testifies
to a conspiracy of mutinous white hairs.
She refuses to concede,
so he plucks a pair, his and hers,
In the courtroom, he testifies
to a conspiracy of mutinous white hairs.
She refuses to concede,
so he plucks a pair, his and hers,
and enters them into evidence.
"Now," he declares,
"we both wear true love's noble reward."
"Now," he declares,
"we both wear true love's noble reward."
To which she replies:
"Shut the hell up!"
The gavel smacks.
The gavel smacks.
They face one another,
startled and stripped of grandeur,
held at once
by the dread of retreat
and a reckless promise
by the dread of retreat
and a reckless promise
of something divine.
