Wedding morning

 

I arose even before the sun in anticipation:

The chill air afterthoughts of the night,

Dew-drop promises; the shifting colour of light

From the back door where I prepared, unsteadily

And with thin, fragile paper, like a suicide note,

A cigarette. The rest of them were sleeping

Dreams of their own. Even the kitchen rested:

The optimistically-named Last Breakfast variously lay

In evidence bags in the fridge; bacon rashers

In the blue plastic bag, eagerly inedible,

For a buttered meal my guts could barely think of

Even if I forced down every swallow

With another cup of ever-delaying tea.

 

You know, hands shaking? Like a convict’s waiting

At the foot of Tyburn Tree. And yet:

As the morning eased itself through inky-black to white

Brief slants of other things, in other lights, were conceded:

And we just, though half-asleep, edged past the cusp

Of an entirely new day in the history of the world,

And as my smoke trailed from my hand and abandoned up

To the windiness of everything, something I still

Cannot explain, occurred to me. So I stubbed out

In an inexact and well-meaning gesture

That first and final candle of my morning,

And smiled at the thought of what we were to be.

 

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2 thoughts on “Wedding morning

  1. Dear James

    How well you express anticipation, in mind, body and spirit, in a brief moment on a doorstep. And what a record of life you are making in poetry. Clarify and mystery. And unpretentious? These are becoming my favourite poems. Love from Gran

    • In all honesty, the fact that you are enjoying it brings such a smile to my face. It’s a pleasure to write, but an even greater pleasure to be read and to know that these scribblings are bringing you joy. More to come, fear not. xxx

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