To have and to hold

/ /

I’ve uttered our vows in reverse: have to a churning engine that turned the other cheek, catalyzing love into mechanical indifference. Hold to as though our marriage could be grasped. At a bachelorette party, a friend asked what’s the secret. Girl, it’s only secrets. I say instead there’s nothing to it. She uses my reassuring lie to flash a bridal smile, but this one I actually meant: it’s pure ether, something blue beyond us and only gods wired differently can breathe it in. In the future, I only sleep with books. I wear rings on almost every finger. My married life visits in its own ways, sometimes crashing into the bay window, falling face up More often than not, it swerves at the last second, unfooled by the sky that vows it goes on forever when it’s really just caught in the glass, doubled over on itself.