Epithalamium
Night creaked about them like a game of chairs;
They looked for safety and again and again
Clung to the eroding island of each other.
Pale blue, their shipwreck eyes beseeched us
Like eyes of Christian martyrs at the circus—
Still, no one wanted to talk to the newlyweds.
Monica Ferrell
The Missouri Review Winter 2011
Copyright © 2011 by Monica Ferrell
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission