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Rite Of Passage
          *
My Walk to Remember

My father takes my hand,
   tucks it in the crook of his arm
      and smiles at me as we walk through 
         the old pasture that has been transformed
            into an outdoor chapel
Tears roll down his face
   with each paced step we take,
      towards the alter, the pastor
         And the hopeful face of my
            of my husband to be
His grip tightens on my hand
   as the congregation stands
      and all eyes turn towards our progression
         as the clouds give way to the
            warming April sun.
I recall the pungent, smoky scent of
   the tanned buckskins we wore,
see the blue cone of the tepee with
   lodge poles reaching towards the pale blue sky
the red and white bunting my sister
   so carefully wrapped around the fence posts
My Beloved’s eyes shining with
   promise, hope and love
and the Indian flute music that
   drifted on the tangy spring air
      marking my rite of passage from
              Daughter to Wife.

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