Wedding

Lisa Renee

For Made Up Words

In the time of the cherry blossoms, one said, “Today?” and the other said, “Yes.”

They drove with the two perfect small boys to the man with three names and said, “Today.”

He said, “There’s a garden …” And they said, “Yes.”

In the garden with the two perfect small boys the man with three names said, “Do you?”

And they said, “Yes.”

Were there rings?

Papers signed, photos snapped, hearts glad.

They drove, with little boys, glad hearts and new papers past the cherry blossoms down to the water for piles of fresh shrimp.

Home, the feast, toasting yes and little boys, the calls.

“Ma and Daddy, we said yes.”

And they breathed deep and fell into the cherry blossom world with the little boys, the promises and all the tomorrows and life was good.

The budding spring then leaned into voluptuous summer which gave way to full-throated autumn in the white swamp city by the water, pitching ultimately into distant winter in far cold fields.

Yes to compromise and tolerance, to making way and making do. Yes to spoons and knives, wardrobes and breakfronts. Yes to a steady hand and a live-in nurse, shorthand and inside jokes, interruptions and interrogations.

Yes to need and want, sated desire and sedated Sundays. Yes to midnight theater and midday swoon, subtext and the overarching theme. The unspoken, unheard, unbowed and unnerved. Yes to a slow burn and pots boiling over. Salt, pepper, eggs and cream.

Yes to an abundance of little boys and one big little girl.

Yes to never and forever. Too much and never enough.

Yes to mess and bother, warp and weft, twined fingers in the night. Many snows and many suns, many moons and Junes and life is good.

And life is good.