Weddings are a quaint little village called Bliss.
It is not unlike the magic town of Brigadoon.
One enters for a few intoxicating moments
and leaves when the cup empties.
Signage to Bliss is as clear
as it is traditional.
In the best of storybook time.
each sign is lit with romantic moonlight.
Bliss suburbs start with
the bended knee of tradition.
The elders there are upset
that this ritual has been mangled
by the electronic revolution.
How can you twitter a proposal?
Next you come to a special place
called Bridal Shower,
And you begin to see that weddings are
for little girls no matter what their age.
Here among the giggles there is a joining
of the romantic and the practical.
Things and more things,
some much later reluctantly sent to Goodwill.
In rehearsal everything is said at least twice,
in this last chance to socialize the groom.
After the little girls have asked a hundred times,
the day has come.
Days have been marked off the calendar
until there are no more.
The crowd arrives with packages and smiles.
The men huddle to talk about fishing
and sports.
The women and girls gather
to talk about weddings.
Start the parade of bride's maids
and groom's men.
Then the magic moment
with the father and bride
entering to a clapping, standing group.
Then rituals as old as time
kick in.
"I do" is punctuated with a kiss,
"we did" with a retreat
to the rear.
A cake is cut, a bouquet tossed,
a garter taken
to be flirted to a new leg.
Traditions honored by careful repetitions.
Each preserved with flashing photos.
This is the village of Bliss.
Beyond is reality, a photo album,
a carefully packed wedding dress
and frozen piece of carrot cake.
Doug Minnis
June 25, 2009