Thank god it didn’t rain, everyone said
And I said, yes, thank god
Though what I really wanted
Was that the bruised sky
Would open up, and the droplets,
Fat and milky,
Fall

That breathless day I kept myself
Whole by imagining:
The tulle clotted with wet,
The inexpert pawing with
Damp shirt corners and rented handkerchiefs,
Each bolt of blue
Fabric on each bridesmaid
Soaked through.
The droplets in the hollow
Between your breasts
Your pink cheeks upturned
To face the sky—
“What’s that? Rain?”

I dreamt of you that night:
smell of soap and hay
freckled shoulder
tiny scar on your nose

But it didn’t rain, thank god,
And you were spared
And he was spared
And the day was saved
And you were married.