The Wedding Gown
The wedding Gown
She stepped boldly,
stoically erect
to the strains
of the wedding march,
radiant in the resplendent
beauty of her gown
and poetic demeanor.
The long silken train, the work
of tens of thousands of weavers
harvesting in the trees of Changsha
to highlight the sanctity of the moment
and the purity of body as she spoke, “I do”.
The daughter
She lay sleeping gently
doing the little sucking moves
which every new babe makes
with her tiny lips.
Her once wrinkled face
now smooth with traces of
resemblance to her mother.
Unafraid on his arm
her eyes reflecting
from the white silken train
made from a wedding gown
already hallowed by promises kept.
She looked up and smiled
as the water placed on her head
promised things of which she knew nothing.
The marriage
She stood in the vestibule
waiting for the crescendo
to signal her entrance.
Trembling slightly from anticipation
she fidgeted with the train of her long white gown.
That same white gown from Hunan province,
a tad shorter now to accommodate
so long ago, her christening.
She touched it lovingly,
knowing that tomorrow,
she would carry another to feel
its texture, smooth as baby’s breath.
The grand daughter
She was above the pulpit of the church.
From some place of which she did not know,
she peered down upon a small casket not open.
Within which she knew her earthly flesh
lay draped in silk from Changsha.
She somehow sensed the family bond
and the import of having a constant to lean on.
Lying upon the same soft weave her mother felt,
the generations entwined helplessly impressed into its folds,
a grandmother, a mother, and yet another babe into this life line.
Surely the expectations of man, do often go astray,
and nothing lasts but the silk from Changsha.
~//~
For Catie's Free Verse Frenzy contest
Copyright © Charles Henderson | Year Posted 2011
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