Pennsylvania Wedding
Shari Caplan
Under winter’s poised boot,
a field leaping with insects.
A fence keeps horses shy of us.
The white one pities my persistence,
but does not deign to nuzzle.
*
The man who fixed a camo throne
ten feet up in the sycamore talked
exclusively to you, while we sipped
syrupy wine and pretended to like it.
The upturned rowboat by the house
would hold us, were it warmer,
and not punctured.
*
A stench follows black birds
like ribbons of sour meat.
Straw cylinders huge as lion heads.
Behind one, a fawn melts.
*
God commands you
to love through grit
because you promised,
says the pastor at someone
else’s ceremony.
Everyone shivers through their vows.
Woman as Church, Man as Pope.
We’ve heard the refrain,
so now the cake.
*
The stroke of cream
on the deer’s chest
like a lamp at the mouth
of a cave. Inclined towards
gristle, I am curious,
but with you,
do not move closer.
6
*
The bride whirls her
red hair in a halo
of happiness.
The groom gives a little time
to each of us.
They have strung
pinpricks of light
from the dollar store
on barn rafters.
It hails through a rainbow,
while all the married dance.
*
We are told to sit,
so we watch.
*
In the hot tub, we strip off
our suits like skin.
Who is the deer
and who the lion?
You have auburn fur,
but I bare teeth.
The water we midnight in
black as the rib cavity.
The sky shuts its eyes.
The hosts are asleep.
The two have married.
The cake has been eaten.
The dancing has ended.
The deer has been killed.
I love you
without promise or God.