99poems/mormons

A large – you surmise
Mormon – family is
having a night-before-
the-wedding dinner
in the same place
we did.
Ben’s aunt from
Phoenix offers
the prayer,
a Mormon one
you think.
Gangly girls in long
green dresses,
we cannot pick out
the bride.
You think you have,
but I say, “surely not.”
I’m betting on the one
in black, just a bit
more sophisticated
than the rest.
Except for the woman
in the seat beneath
the stairs,
in her tailored
navy suit
and stylish shoes.

Her husband is
the only comfortable
looking one, outside
all the clans,
I think.
No need to feel
responsible
for what is said,
embarrassed by
the aunt who
talks too much,
the strained faces
which have little
chance of growing
into pretty women.
The groom’s mother
wears green too,
the elderly father
who rises to clang
his glass has,
no doubt, been
at this for years.
Ben. Ben. Ben.
We hear. But the
bride remains nameless
and when we leave
we still don’t
know which
one she is.

5//1/99