from
The Truth and Other Stories...
Birds-eye view of the wedding: A non-working-farm near Baltimore, 1973
I
The day was fine— or not. Nobody really paid attention.
Daphne wore an empire waist. Jim let his hair down.
Flowers were everywhere. Zinnias. Marigolds. All colors
were equal to Jim, and abundance was what Daphne most wanted.
They agreed on the everywhere flowers, and the dusk
was falling into the drinks so they
got this show on the road.
There were mothers and fathers, all of them lost, hurried.
There were bottles of booze, and good meat from the grill.
It was the seventies, and almost everyone was ugly,
but nobody noticed. Only the pictures remembered.
They wrote their own vows. Daphne said something
flowery, meaningful, abundant. Something about Daphne.
Jim said the truth, meant what he said, and upset Daphne.
I promise to love you when I can, and tolerate you when I can't.
Then Daphne’s father, who was not known for his fatherly
inclinations, rose to the occasion, had to be restrained.
So that the day could continue, everyone was restrained.
So that the day could continue into a night of drinking.
So that the young marrieds could wake the next day.
So that the stories could be told later, again and again.
So that the stories could be told again, later and later
into the story— so that the story could end in a laugh.
II
Daphne and Jim got married in a bower. I was there,
under the empire waist. I was there when the vows were.
A vow was made. To me. I was part of that body to be loved.
And so I was tolerated, and so I came alive, into the story.
Daphne drank too much. She usually does. Jim smiled slowly.
They served lamb, I think, that night. I can still taste it.
To follow Daphne’s few belongings into the apartment on Reed St, turn to page 9
To see Jim watch a birth, choose a name, turn to page 27
