June 4, 1948

A slip of yellowing newsprint
flutters gently to the floor.
A flood of memories are unleashed
that beg to be explored.

An early June wedding,
a solemnization.
What a sobering word
to describe celebration.

This was no heedless entering in,
an ocean between them,
a war to win,
lonely letters of longing.
Now their song can begin.

But where is the organ,
the wedding processional,
the beribboned pews, the white limousine,
the carpeted aisle,
the cascading train,
the impediment denial?

The church doors are closed.
The rectory is crowded.
The words are soft whispers,
archaic -- troth -- asunder.
Can they distill the wonder?
Can I relive again
what once was then
and find the girl who still
is in me,
in that woman who was
yet to be.

I now pronounce you
man and wife,
When does a woman become a wife?
Do you promise?
I did.
I do -- and always will,
a daring caring,
a caring sharing,
my happy everaftering.

I'll let the Holy Spirit in,
and with each dawn,
begin again.

by Colleen Gordon

Send Comments to Greg Gordon MD, CFI, cydoc@earthlink.net
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