I ripped open your envelope, tore
open old wounds, transported back
to a time when foresight was occluded
like a warm-front straddling the Adirondacks:
the journey through the lush Shenandoah;
the gentle rain; the thunder that made us fugitives.
But we returned to the places of our keeping,
tacit agreement in place never to speak of our criminalization.
I read your card, and foresight crystal clear,
I checked 'unable to attend'
and sealed the return envelope
with one last kiss.
You should honeymoon in Australia.
I've never been, but I hear it's lovely this time of year,
so cool, so clear, and already tomorrow-
that much farther from the memory.
Christopher Parcels
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-invitation-7/
