Of a great need
We are all holding hands
Not loving is a letting go.
The terrain around here
That. ~ Hafiz
I’m crying in the balcony.
It’s stifling. We’re crowded
together, standing parallel
to give each other a point
of view. This should have taken
place outside, framed by lush green
grass, a grand entrance down the sweeping
walk. But the drenching downpour
called for plan B. Good luck, this
cleansing rain a symbol
of fertility. And the dramatic
backdrop of black thunderous clouds
is a photographer’s delight.
I’ve come alone, longtime friend
of the bride’s parents, and none
of our other close friends could make
it, so the introvert will watch
swallows feeding their young.
They’ve built two nests on the porch
eaves of this imposing mansion.
Nestlings are demanding. All four parents
are frantic, diving a clear warning
to careless intruders. But the house is
crowded and overwarm, and this cool
breeze has lured out the loners
and the parents with small children.
I blow raspberries with an eight-month-old.
She started it. She shows me a technique
I’ve never tried, tongue just so,
the spit outrageous.
When I hear people complain
about the swallows, I sing their praises.
We’ll be bug-free when we dance
under the billowing tent tonight,
love connecting strangers with wide
smiles, champagne glasses lifted
as we acknowledge the common
threads that brought us here.
This brave new couple dancing
— exuberance invites us into a new
fold of the weave, so we drink
sweet bubbles and regard each other
with so much love that tomorrow,
we can see a stranger and say,
I know you. And our hearts
will ring with that truth.