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Indian Ocean Blue Wedding Dress
by Erik Jensen
We found the wonderland you chose for this wedding using its wireless network signal from the street.
When we arrived and saw a simple elevator with no attendant or watchman,
I thought about all the knocking combinations I’d need to do to fall down the rabbit hole or
the Latinate passwords I’d need to rush through to gain entrance into this speakeasy.
It’s just like you to work in secrets and paradox and leave it up to us to
Guess at your intentions and unravel the mysteries in the Indian cloth on the Tuscan textured walls.
Everything here is so badly mismatched from the flamingos bathing amongst cavemen
to the giant stuffed bees fluttering amongst Kentucky Derby hats with stained glass butterflies.
It’s like an acid trip in the Wonka factory, and once I solve the paradox of which way is up,
I can sit down and appreciate the amount of garage sales that had to be visited and raided
to accomplish this.
If only the grandmas knew what their prized ceramic pigs and leopard skin rugs would be living in!
In the galley, guests shuffle in and have varied interpretations of what is actually occurring.
But this is a wedding, or so the invites said, and gradually, each stumbles into a seat.
I talk politely to the one person I can easily identify from those old days who has not since
Found Meth or Jesus, had children or some strange combination of all three.
She asks me about my comings and goings and reciprocates the appreciation that
Some things, like us, never quite change. There is a flash of orgasmic comfort in the static.
Over microbrews she asks, “What color is this dress going to be?” I had wondered myself and
Whether we would sacrifice some sort of barnyard animal to round out of the vows. If we did,
The dress would probably have to be red as to avoid having stains that would do a little more than just
Arouse suspicion. So I reply, “Red, I guess” omitting the reasoning.
“Oh,” she says and takes a huff of an electronic cigarette, “I had thought yellow or orange.”
Perhaps she was too afraid to admit she had thought the same.
A few more pleasantries and we received word that the ceremony would begin.
The groom and parties begin their procession through a curved semicircle carved by purposefully
Laid by rows of terrycloth upholstered chairs with varying shades of yellow, mustard and curry powder.
When the final group has gone, the entrance way is empty and then she appears
In a still Indian Ocean blue wedding dress covered in waved fabric.
Her incredibly nervous procession momentarily brings order to this otherwise chaos theory
Underwritten place as her image rolls over us. When she reaches the makeshift altar,
The planets are free to leave their forced alignment but remain.
10/09/2011 Author's Note: From wedding number 2.
Posted on 10/09/2011
Copyright © 2024 Erik Jensen
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Meghan Helmich on 10/11/11 at 01:49 PM This is really beautiful, I'm sitting in one of those terry cloth chairs! Wonderful writing here. I especially love "I talk politely to the one person I can easily identify from those old days who has not since/Found Meth or Jesus, had children or some strange combination of all three." |
| Posted by Steven Kenworthy on 10/13/11 at 06:41 AM wow...erik, glad i finished reading this thru. it's not in my patience to read anything past 4-5 lines (unless i wrote it), but your words here are crisp and vivid. the closing line, which to me is as important as the rest of the entire poem is strong...gives me release and satisfaction from the overall work, but keeps me in my seat...starting back at the top. cheers mate, |
| Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 10/13/11 at 09:33 PM What a pleasure this was to read. My hair is still blown back with the depth and intelligence of this. |
| Posted by A. Paige White on 04/17/15 at 01:24 AM I adored it. Reminds me quite a bit of Worthy's style. I am looking forward to wandering around your library. |
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