|By Ben Walker|
Bring our wedding cake topper onto The Antique Road Show.
The expert will turn it on a felt-topped folding table
with restrained enthusiasm about its monogram,
filigree, pedigree and, at last, its je ne sais quoi.
Though we’re amateurs, the verdict’s dramatic: Best In Show.
Yes, look at us now: in bed watching TV on a Tuesday,
adrift in tea, blankets and the broad seas of regular
passing among office, practice and kindergarten days.
Far from the wedding where we wept our joy, we land weary
with few words some nights, some nights a slight furrow in the brow.
The patina deepens on the worthy thing we have here
in the flats and troughs equally as in the barnburners
and breakers. By now we know we’ll look, and it will appear
on the altar where we tend to it, sprouted and burnished,
ever the bright prize we seized together before the gray.
Under its still, resounding presence, think of all we’ve born.
It’s always here, dear, our golden little tabernacle.