Old

She remembered that day, that one so long ago
it seemed it was a dream, and that fond embrace
so hard it took her breath and barely gave it back
in a gasp, as if the sky had fallen blue around her.

Sitting on the bed in her childhood room, she read
the words on the faded pages, the envelopes worn,
the edges brittle with the wear of fingers tracing them,
a lover’s touch for a lover far away in time and place.

The sun through the curtains cast the room crimson,
the baby’s breath in the bouquet went white to rose.
Then a breeze would lift them and the sun would set
the room on fire to match the white satin of her gown.

Her mother called to tell her it was time to begin.
She placed the cover on that old correspondence,
closed it in the dresser drawer, and rose to leave
the room behind and join the groom downstairs.

The last time she would put his letters away
would be the morning after this, her wedding day.

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