10/15/2025
In a house where heirlooms hummed like tuning forks,
where love dripped slow and sticky as honey on cornbread,
a wedding bloomed
not in some cathedral of marble coldness,
but in a West Virginia home
where the mountains like giggling aunts.
The couple, spectacled prophets of tenderness,
looked at one another as if their glasses
were portals,
A porcelain cat sat
silent witness,
ceramic guardian
blinking its eternal blink at the swirl of vows.
The wallpaper, peach and ornate,
conspired with the curtains
twins born from the same bolt of fabric—
to drape the room in a heaven of apricot glow.
Here, the mother and daughter
were transfigured into sunlight,
their laughter luminous enough
to etch halos onto the walls.
And the bride, ah, the bride
so gorgeous she outshone
every chandelier that ever dared sparkle.
Her beauty made even the mountains
pause their long, slow breathing,
just to lean closer
and whisper, Stay this way forever.
When music poured itself across the floor,
they danced
not like ballroom marionettes,
but like wildflowers set loose in a windstorm,
their loveliness so absolute
that time itself forgot to keep score.
And the children, holy fools of delight,
flopped into drifts of confetti
making snow angels in paper snow
while the grown-ups clapped and the cat dreamed
and the mountains stood as guardians,
and peach heaven spilled from curtain to sky.
It was a wedding, yes,
but also a spell,
a whispered hymn stitched in heirlooms and laughter,
a love that wore glasses but saw farther
than sight itself.
