I went to a wedding today
the second I’ve attended since
you got married.
You would have loved the venue:
a small stone chapel
almost like a cottage
in the woods
with a high Gothic ceiling
and a stained-glass portrait
of the via dolorosa
hanging just over the altar.
And the ceremony
may have been more high church
than what we were used to
growing up in Texas
but the bride processed in
to some Elvish-sounding music
and after the exchange of vows
we all had communion
and the newlyweds came in together
bearing the grail and bread.
The whole first year after
when I heard about a friend’s engagement
my immediate reaction
was to try and stop it.
It was silly of me, I know:
not every walk down the aisle
has a cross at its end.
And over time
I got better, or
learned how to fake it.
But today
when the priest said,
“Speak now, or forever hold your peace”
it was hard not to think of that moment
in your wedding
and the silence where
no one spoke.
And when the bride and groom
pledged their fidelity to one another
in sickness and in health
to have and to hold
from this day forward
I thought of you and him
the vows he made to you that day
flanked by the groomsmen
with whom he had already
betrayed them.
One day
a few years from now
I’ll have my own ceremony.
And with laughter and communion
my friends will escort me
into a new realm of life.
But even amid the celebration
there will be a quiet ache
dull but persistent
because of the empty space
where you should have been
and the marriage you never had.
There are tales they tell in Texas that’d make your blood run cold
Sketches By Boze 