Written on February 8, 2020

The other day I married myself. 
I dreamt of a golden yellow band with an emerald nestled in its center.
As I walked down the passage to the town official, 
I recalled an image of a book. 
I rummaged through it page by page,
scribbling in notes to melodies that had followed me
like little ducklings running after their mother across the street.
I patted each on her head and gave each its own page
as if to say “there there, I have a place for you”.

They couldn’t sit still though,
some shouted and squirmed,
raised their hands wildly, waving,
dogging their own pages.
What is this nonsense?

I reached the end of the corridor 
and rubbed the turquoise stone in between my fingertips,
rolling the band around, turn by turn.
I didn’t have it sized,
I knew it would be just right.
The official pulled up the shade and turned off the light.
Without a word I understood the vow I must take:
I do, I do, I do.
I am the beating heart, 
the restless thuds and the space in between. 
With each moment I make the sun thirsty for light. 
I am, I am, I am.

With a glance we both knew it was done.
After, we flipped through the book I had carried.
We considered each note I’d penciled in, each marking, each dynamic.
With just a thought I could move C here, or G there…
They knew where to go and winked at me as they meandered from line to line.
Some shuffled along, laughing at this old game.
One even flirted with me as she took her time to slink across the page,
rolling side to side before the others whistled at her to move along.

As we paged through the phrases, 
the other newlyweds joined. 
We clinked our glasses and swirled the first sip in our mouthes,
gentle waves curling over the tongue.

Through the window I saw the clouds gliding by.
Without a word they told me the sun had gone on holiday.
He had done his job.
He had ignited me.
I could not be destroyed. 
I set my glass down, 
turned and walked down the passage. 
I had another party to attend.
I would not be returning. 
I knew I would be out all night.