Brothers and sisters, we are up to 738 blogs on the over at NaPoWriMo! Mistress Maureen's prompt: Write an Epithalamium. I couldn't do any better than Fred Eaglesmith's, "Your Sister Cried," covered by Mary Gautier.
And it seems I've lost my post for day #2 on this. I'll find it. Onto the poems!
The morning we unpacked the kitchen
He took me to a square rumpled patch
Where we heel-toed through cabbages
Until he found the one
Green and heavy
Like a Jurassic bud
And placed it on his neck.
On moss-lit nights I would prop myself
up on an elbow Look close at those waxy veins
Maybe peel a leaf back just a bit
With the thumb and a tender finger
Wondering what dreams and thoughts
How much more absurd could they be?
It was a bad day when he rolled awake To find me over him
Contemplating Russian recipes
Unable to apologize for practicality and
Realizing that he had thought
the perfect marriage for a cabbage-headed man
Was a cold, dark wife.
I am the owl. Bring me dust, red dust
flash paper; gunpowder
in the silhouette of a woman,
shower me in paprika.
I am the awl. She just wants a hug, that's why
she's crying; she wants to reveal, one by one,
her punctuation tatoos; font: courier,
the sphinxlike question on her ribs.
I am the all. Unquarantined lymph system
intact, arrhythmia in the formula, appetites
I am the cowl. I pray using FedEx boxes;
I make poison out of camera film
and the organs of hyperpronated pigeons.