For Sara and Heath's wedding July 11th, 2008
Today I picked your bridal bouquet
in the shade of the wooden oak
away from the new summer heat
where hid the smallest bulbs of white
fragrant to the point of poison
The lilies grow out from fallen foliage,
thin green stalks leaning slightly
their delicate bells peeking out
with wide, waxy leaves
Reaching down, I tug up
a memory of you telling me,
you would only marry Bond, James Bond
we had our hair in pigtails, trying on watermelon Lip Smackers
joking about dream men, when the idea of “men” didn’t stem
much further from Ken, our fathers, and of course, Bond
there was always Bond, well- he rides a surfboard
instead of an Aston Martin, but I think you found
your modern day Connery
Bells come up quickly with a little tugging, sweet and solid, they slip
from the earth and into my tightly twined collection
And this is my happiness- that I can pretend to be
picking your flowers in the forest while your mother
ties the ribbon of the dress you wont wear, and that
with this poem, I can bless your choices
and ask forgiveness for my absence
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