green June Sunday, Daddy lifting my train
white Schiffli lace  

sixpence, all the way from England
rubbing my left toes  

played in to Bach, your favorite
Mother, front pew, gloved hands folded  

Book of Common Prayer
words I knew by heart  

Father Arnold, “You may kiss the bride”
fingers on your lips, feeding you cake  

your Greek friend’s champagne glass
flung against the fireplace  

in the coatroom, your fourteen-year-old brother
gracefully passed out  

showers of rice, tossed from organdy bags
Mother made by hand  

get-away Mustang, hubcaps loaded with stones
wedding photo, my hand on your arm
my shoulders ever graced
by the long dark loops of my hair