Rancho Aorta

RANCHO AORTA

How incredibly beautiful
you were,
covered in white Mexican lace
and bright floral cotton,
bathed in Texas sunlight,
standing next to me
in front of that arched bay window
in your parent's house;
framed with a brimming vase
of red and white flowers,
with smooth wood of caramel pecan
beneath us,
with the boisterous din
of close family
cascading over us.

Your daddy stood tall
without his cane,
being the preacher for us
on that day,
and not the teacher
or cattleman,
in his cream suit and craberry tie,
with that shock of white hair,
thumbing through his tiny well-worn bible,
and the deep timbre of his minister' voice
espoused gentle words
about love, honor, duty, and responsibility.

He held out our rings,
and as I held your hand
to slip on the gold band,
I felt your small nervousness
for the first time.

The ceremony concluded
and we kissed and kissed
and the flashbulbs popped
and the camcorder whirred
and I have never seen such happiness
in a woman's eyes.

Later we knifed through the mist
clinging to the low hills
south of San Antonio,
and the ditches were ablaze
with blue bonnets and wild flowers;
a rainbow swath of petals
girding the highway.

Rolling wet
in the warm rain,
beside the lizard-green of massive fields,
I heard music,
far off,
just a faint melody;
like the sound of spring,
I thought,
but no.

I came to realize
that the music
was inside me,
and the lovely tune
was simply the first few bars
of our new life together.


Glenn Buttkus 1993