Samantha Jane's Wedding; Bloomington, IL

I've never lived in this city, but you dear sister

are about to be married here, and we've slept

in the same bed of our mother's body

so my heart can't be far from the earth

under this church. You hold out

a book of letters for him, written

back when you didn't know each other,

but already loved. The only pages missing

are the few years you were so sick

you tell him I didn't think anyone

would want to marry me. It's then I know

that even though that disease nearly crushed

us all, even though our childhood home creaked

under the weight, we could still

give each other everything. I would stand

waiting at the front of the church for you

if he backed out, if sisters could keep each other

forever. Instead, I slip your wedding shoes

on your feet, kneeling before

the ruched satin of your dress like a prince,

though I have not always searched the kingdom

to make the impossible love real, not

like you have, making a home

out of whatever sticks you could find,

inviting us all to walk

down the aisles of your heart.