miyako73
08-11-2010, 10:26 AM
We both settled on June of last year
When you and I would be thirty-two.
I thought of a backless Vera Wang
And you, a buttoned Armani tuxedo.
You wanted the sunset in your Uncle’s ranch in Nevada,
But I liked the songs of angels in a church in San Diego
Or the garden of roses and daisies in San Juan Capistrano,
And we ended up with the emerald waves of Santa Monica.
While you were in faraway Bashra
I made our orange and gold invitations,
Planned our elaborate beach ceremony
And tasted desserts for our reception.
Breezy April came when I started expecting you at the door,
On my phone for your voice, your kissed words, your sighs.
You said you were fine, setting bones and stitching wounds,
and could not wait to unveil a beauty walking down the aisle.
I too could not wait for the platinum ring
You once put in an empty bullet metal box
But later kept under your camouflaged pillow
To keep it away from bombs, sand, and dust.
In mid May, we were still excited and ready like we had been
When you promised to return after your desert duty in the Army
That sent you to the College where we met and dreamed love
By the river where we rowed into the ripples glistening in the sun.
Last Saturday of June was our long-waited day
When I overslept in your large shirt of army gray.
I took a shower alone and lathered the soap,
drowning my breathes in its bubbles and froths.
Three in the afternoon on the clock, an hour before our eternal vow
By the altar arched by petunias, tangerine roses, and white cattleyas.
From the tub still dripping, I sat on the vanity stool and faced the mirror
and brushed butterfly colors on my face and stabbed my lips with red.
I carefully wore the embroidered beaded gown
And put on the lacy veil just above my cold nape.
The shoes still fit even though I lost many pounds
But the necklace you gave was itchy and heavy.
Already four, the phantom priest and the ghost singer had not yet arrived.
I looked serene in white, and you, peaceful in your beret and green uniform
Smiling at me like the war had been won and we would kiss each other soon.
I curled in my bed holding you flagged and framed in gold, in my tight embrace.
(Thanks, Hillwalker. I just hate any form of war.)
When you and I would be thirty-two.
I thought of a backless Vera Wang
And you, a buttoned Armani tuxedo.
You wanted the sunset in your Uncle’s ranch in Nevada,
But I liked the songs of angels in a church in San Diego
Or the garden of roses and daisies in San Juan Capistrano,
And we ended up with the emerald waves of Santa Monica.
While you were in faraway Bashra
I made our orange and gold invitations,
Planned our elaborate beach ceremony
And tasted desserts for our reception.
Breezy April came when I started expecting you at the door,
On my phone for your voice, your kissed words, your sighs.
You said you were fine, setting bones and stitching wounds,
and could not wait to unveil a beauty walking down the aisle.
I too could not wait for the platinum ring
You once put in an empty bullet metal box
But later kept under your camouflaged pillow
To keep it away from bombs, sand, and dust.
In mid May, we were still excited and ready like we had been
When you promised to return after your desert duty in the Army
That sent you to the College where we met and dreamed love
By the river where we rowed into the ripples glistening in the sun.
Last Saturday of June was our long-waited day
When I overslept in your large shirt of army gray.
I took a shower alone and lathered the soap,
drowning my breathes in its bubbles and froths.
Three in the afternoon on the clock, an hour before our eternal vow
By the altar arched by petunias, tangerine roses, and white cattleyas.
From the tub still dripping, I sat on the vanity stool and faced the mirror
and brushed butterfly colors on my face and stabbed my lips with red.
I carefully wore the embroidered beaded gown
And put on the lacy veil just above my cold nape.
The shoes still fit even though I lost many pounds
But the necklace you gave was itchy and heavy.
Already four, the phantom priest and the ghost singer had not yet arrived.
I looked serene in white, and you, peaceful in your beret and green uniform
Smiling at me like the war had been won and we would kiss each other soon.
I curled in my bed holding you flagged and framed in gold, in my tight embrace.
(Thanks, Hillwalker. I just hate any form of war.)