Nuptials

Before or after, there was
no fanfare. No one prostrated 
themselves before my family to ask
for my hand, offering sacks of rice 
or yam; bolts of cloth, money, a small 
pig or goat which, ceremoniously, 
would have had to be returned 
and replaced with a less 
diminutive animal. No ribbons 
hung from the rafters, no voices 
practiced trills in the choir. 
No longer young, and yet we looked 
so young, leaning over the balcony 
in the rented time-share cottage 
while our friend snapped the photo. 
I did not wear white, but there was 
freshly fallen snow in the background, 
spring still only a rumor at the beginning 
of March. We chose verses to read and 
words to say: promise or prayer, spell 
for the future, through joy and sorrow— 
whatever we believed would carry 
us safely through the tides.