After the Ceremony

After marriage, even after the mundane invades our life, hopefully, some of the magic remains.

After the Ceremony

Oh my dear,
caught in this star-studded cowboy boot world,
I love you more than an Oreo cookie,
more than bubble gum
or a dill pickle.
You are a full gas tank and my shoelaces.
You are both what keeps me going
and what I am reaching out for—
my goal and trophy rolled into one.
You are my ironing board and my blender—
what churns me up and straightens me out.
Everything in the world is caught up in you.

It is flowering, our ordinary world.
Zephyrus peanut butter
and turgid corned beef hash
are surrounded by rosebuds,
soaring heavenward in sartorial bliss.
The sewing machine is holy
and our Dodge truck dreamlike.
The fanciful and practical
are shuffled in our dream world
like cards at a poker table.
A washcloth and a comb soar heavenward.
Birdsong becomes a phonograph needle,
caught in its groove.
Verdant is the garden hose–
pulsating with a new vibrancy.

If I am a tax form, you are my pencil.
I am diaphanous in my kitchen apron,
a fairy in blue jeans.
I could sing an ode to your toothbrush.
If I took a measuring stick to our love,
the world’s breath would be bated,
waiting for the result.
Birdsong would issue from the teakettle
to chorus the announcement.
For oh, my love, our passion is a hammer.
A scythe that slices through the problems of the world:
the shopping lists and the crabgrass.

Love vaporizes our petty problems––
the broken dishwasher
and the broken fingernail––
I am thy bride, thy fairy princess.
Your pencil sharpener.
The trimmer of your wick,
the cooker of your sausage.

My dear, I am turgid in thy love.
You are what wrenches my heart
and nails shut the door
of every misgiving I might have had.
You are mustard to my sauerkraut,
pastrami to my rye.
Love in a Ziplock bag might seem less fairylike,
blander than white bread
and more Sunday School than magical;
but, you are my big zucchini,
my Dove bar and my Orange Crush,
and I am forever thy camellia and thy rose.

Remember me under lindens,
my footsteps filled with magnolia petals
and my cook pot full of stardust.
Heaven resides in our walkup flat, my dear,
and I pulsate every day
with the memory of that honeymoon
which was only our penultimate dream—
leading up to the chock-a-block,
stuffed turkey with all the trimmings,
overflowing Christmas stocking,
burst balloon filled with confetti,
blissful rest of that conjoined life
that with every morning alarm clock
will spill over us again
like a freshly split piñata.

This is a rewrite of a poem first written five years ago. The prompt word today was ceremony.

19 thoughts on “After the Ceremony

    1. lifelessons Post author

      Thanks, Caramel. Now I know more about you than I did before you wrote the comment. Ha. It is fun to let my mind go while writing. A sort of mental exercise teaching me not to take the world so seriously. Glad you enjoyed it.

      Liked by 1 person

      Reply
      1. lifelessons Post author

        oops.. there was a typo in my comment. I meant to say “before you wrote the comment” not “before you wrote the poem.” That must have been confusing. i corrected it in comments.

        Like

  1. crushedcaramel

    You are mustard to my sauerkraut!!!
    Judy…I love your posts, but this is my favourite…SO FAR!
    I would love to say this line to my own love, he will be coming for dinner on Wednesday…I am going to show him your poem. I am sure he will love it!

    Like

    Reply
  2. Pingback: A Ceremony of Words – Nicolas Heartmann

  3. Pingback: New Skin for the Old Ceremony | lifelessons – a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown

  4. calensariel

    That pretty well covers everything in life, doesn’t it? I really loved this: “For oh, my love, our passion is a hammer. A scythe that slices through the problems of the world: the shopping lists and the crabgrass.” Isn’t that so true…

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

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