Tarn
I
watched a friend marry on Sunday. Warm green tarn.
Cold water on ice. We
sizzled in an iron skillet.
To
be honest, I don’t know the groom, and perhaps I don’t want to-
so I didn’t
watch him. I mean, my fix was on her.
I
saw her, diamond girl playing dress-up, cast into her big day.
We all fill spaces
for one another. Hold spaces. Rock and adore.
We
intertwine. And un-twine. Lend a hand. Drop a napkin.
Make
a stitch. Hold it down. Tie a knot. Watch it
fuse
two pieces of fabric together.
See
as the knot slips. Let it go. Let it dangle. Loose thread.
It
may sound like my view of her day was selfish. But
really that’s all we can do.
Watch. Bear witness.
She
did for me. I did for her. Now she will make stitches
with this boyish man who
loves her.
You
see, she was our first who cared for my child when his father and I weren’t
doing that, anymore, together. So – to me- she was. A bobbing buoy, curly
sheep, pencil to paper, make-shift family.
BK
sept 2016
