I can picture Lucille
chain-smoking: surprised
and pleased
to interrupt routine.
And the Deputy Sheriff,
a young man, blushing,
loaded gun in his holster,
arms hanging loose:
he looked at his shoes.
But it's the words
I remember most. It was as if
I was hearing them
for the first time.
Lucille put out a cigarette
and began: "Dearly beloved,"
and we were!
chain-smoking: surprised
and pleased
to interrupt routine.
And the Deputy Sheriff,
a young man, blushing,
loaded gun in his holster,
arms hanging loose:
he looked at his shoes.
But it's the words
I remember most. It was as if
I was hearing them
for the first time.
Lucille put out a cigarette
and began: "Dearly beloved,"
and we were!
I have long loved this poem. A conversation today at work brought it to mind - Miss M and I were discussing weddings. Her boyfriend is eager to marry her so she's considering what she'd enjoy and could afford. She'd like a simple courthouse ceremony and then a great party with all of their friends.
I gushed to her about the simple joyful wedding L and I had. A hand-me-down dress. The deck of a ferry. My oldest friend officiating. The applause of strangers. A discreet on-board reception. But what I couldn't communicate at all was our great joy. The joy of "dearly beloved."
"The Wedding in the Courthouse" as found in Sewell, Marilyn. ed. Cries of the Spirit: A Celebration of Women's Spirituality. Boston: Beacon Press. 1991. p.189.
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