Wedding poem time again...
As previously stated, I end up writing a lot of "poems to be read at weddings."
It's a weird form, and hard to do actually... trying to strike a balance between honest and sweet, smart and sentimental... hard to do well without compromising my own writerliness. And also, there's a "momentary" quality to it, a precision of place, because the poem is really only meant to be read by people sharing the moment. Weird.
In any case, I thought I'd post this one, my fourth in the last 2 years. I'm thinking I should edit a little chapbook called, "Poems to read out loud at weddings if you aren't a totally cheesy idiot."
Eh?
YOU go looking for a wedding poem and see how hard it is to suit your literary conscience and the bride's grandma at the same time...
************************
A "true" love poem
~For Dave and Mindy
September 18, 2004
I
Let’s not pretend to be perfect. We are full
of loss, which is why things matter.
To begin with, there are holes in everything.
Which is why love. Which is why heavy
blankets feel good on cold nights.
Which is why we hold hands.
II
Before they loved each other, we all
knew they loved each other. We were
just waiting for them to notice. Slowly.
Their arms reached wide. The air held
its breath. One real and actual thing.
It was tangible, that love, and obvious.
It was solid, with an intricate root system.
It was the most actual thing of all, quiet.
You could hang your hat on it.
Even on the tiredest nights, through
the longest months and the barest rooms
it grew. Strong and bright and shining.
And then in the brightest moments, through
the loudest music and the smoke, Love’s voice clear.
On a different frequency, above the noise.
III
Let’s not pretend to be always good,
or selfless. Let’s confess. The truth is,
we ask a lot from love.
We say, "Love, can you toss me the keys,
loan me ten dollars?" And she does.
Sometimes if we’re honest, she does.
Because love is strong, faithful. She brings
you soup, puts gas in the car, strokes your
hand when you sleep. If you’re lucky.
Not always, but sometimes, the holes
get filled or left empty, just as they should.
Sometimes like now, like right now.
It's a weird form, and hard to do actually... trying to strike a balance between honest and sweet, smart and sentimental... hard to do well without compromising my own writerliness. And also, there's a "momentary" quality to it, a precision of place, because the poem is really only meant to be read by people sharing the moment. Weird.
In any case, I thought I'd post this one, my fourth in the last 2 years. I'm thinking I should edit a little chapbook called, "Poems to read out loud at weddings if you aren't a totally cheesy idiot."
Eh?
YOU go looking for a wedding poem and see how hard it is to suit your literary conscience and the bride's grandma at the same time...
************************
A "true" love poem
~For Dave and Mindy
September 18, 2004
I
Let’s not pretend to be perfect. We are full
of loss, which is why things matter.
To begin with, there are holes in everything.
Which is why love. Which is why heavy
blankets feel good on cold nights.
Which is why we hold hands.
II
Before they loved each other, we all
knew they loved each other. We were
just waiting for them to notice. Slowly.
Their arms reached wide. The air held
its breath. One real and actual thing.
It was tangible, that love, and obvious.
It was solid, with an intricate root system.
It was the most actual thing of all, quiet.
You could hang your hat on it.
Even on the tiredest nights, through
the longest months and the barest rooms
it grew. Strong and bright and shining.
And then in the brightest moments, through
the loudest music and the smoke, Love’s voice clear.
On a different frequency, above the noise.
III
Let’s not pretend to be always good,
or selfless. Let’s confess. The truth is,
we ask a lot from love.
We say, "Love, can you toss me the keys,
loan me ten dollars?" And she does.
Sometimes if we’re honest, she does.
Because love is strong, faithful. She brings
you soup, puts gas in the car, strokes your
hand when you sleep. If you’re lucky.
Not always, but sometimes, the holes
get filled or left empty, just as they should.
Sometimes like now, like right now.
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