In Sickness and Health
In the rain-fed landslides
Of stockpiled chemistries
Promenade down a nave
To a whitened shrine
Where one syndrome pledges
To muster a lifetime of grit
To bloom a beautiful water lily
Over mud-spoilt earth
The Father of the Bride
The two feet
That you buckled on a cot
The two eyes that stared
At you like you were the full moon.
The two palms that wrapped around
Your fingers demanding
A little grip.
Now two party heels
On top of which she dances,
Her two arms knowing another.
Too soon, how time opened a water lily,
To be the cynosure of a little pond,
Where the pickers are many,
But keepers are few.
