Wedding Day

It is the second time you’ve brought
me here.

This one story
church among the grove of deathly lemon trees.

Yes, it is my wedding day, and I am happy;

You are there in a bed. I see your feet first,
one shorter and slightly swollen than the other, no top sheet, all over you
a yellowness.

You

who sent a letter with just the inky imprint
of your tongue upon it

So what was I supposed to think?

How did they manage this? Revive you? Dig you up?

You breathe and move your head, eyes almost open

Hoping
you are not dead.

How long am I expected to consol you in your agony?

I swallow the little white tablet of fear
that you included in the package and go ahead, turn to my
new wife

and ask if she’d like to pick some;
pick some lemons from the trees on the hill.