the wedding

Standard

(dedicated to adam and myung-hee)

it was january, far too cold for blossoms of love to peek and
greet two young lovers in the church in the village
of four hundred people only, but we bundled up
and slipped through the snow to witness
the life of two made one.
cross-cultural the essence of time made intertwined
with my guest and i as we sat behind the lady with
the big hat and watched the bliss on our groom’s face
the unending joy on our bride showered on us all
from aisle and altar
i reflected briefly on my own life (how could i not?)
and sank inside one biblical phrase that caught my ear:
love keeps no record of right or wrong
it was spoken in not one but two languages that day
not one but two hearts would keep record of those words
and i would try my best to do the same

snowflakes were our blossoms that evening
my guest and i found the reception hall
we gabbed and giggled and mingled
but while the bride and her groom danced
i caught a brief glancing instant of
what it must feel like to know
the person who you’re holding
in your arms at that moment
in front of all those people
is the one that you would hold
in your heart
for eternity
and in one simple instant
tears flooded and rushed to my eyes
and i couldn’t imagine knowing
that truth for longer than that instant

my brain was broken apart with discussions
of freemasons christianity patriarchy infidelity
good music bad movies floundering relationships
as my guest and i resumed the deconstruction
of everything we knew and quoted our favorite
movies in the spontaneous combustion
of like-minded individuals
and i knew i would have the arduous task
of reassembling it all when i got back home
kind of like putting back together a rubik’s cube
when i was a kid because i was too frustrated
too impatient
to do it
the right way
what is the right way?
i asked my guest and he replied
“be a good you, that’s all anyone asks, is for truth”

we stopped watching watches and meandered back through
upstate new york with bad singing voices and an un-need
to get any certain where by any certain time
the catskills and the hudson at the newburgh-beacon bridge
slowed time down for us and we imagined our future selves
in future houses hidden in those rolling hills that wrapped their
furry bodies around our car
and when the road become no longer familiar we kept driving
straight through to see if we’d find a point of focus anyway
and we did

soon the triborough bridge ended and the disjointed
disfigured weary manhattan skyline brightened
for a moment and smiled and hugged me
like i had been missing for too long
and it was glad to see me again
i hugged it back with a whoop
and a yell
my apartment arrived at my feet and pulled me
in for a big wet smooch hello
my guest departed with promises of
future infinite road trips to nowhere in particular
i dropped my bags on the bed, my boots at the door
my need for the world outside at my feet and
settled back into the obvious
the ordinary comfortable familiar.

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