4th August 1952

I have a photograph of you on your wedding day,

St Lucia Methodist Church, 4th August, 1952

but I want to hear what the wind heard

—for I gather it was a blustery day,

as you step from the car your veil becomes flighty—

and want to know what the light witnessed,

what it, and only it, could witness

between you two as the car pulls up

and faces fill the window, their greeting, their desire

to share the magic of a bride, confirming this is your day.  

Your father, the clean lines of his intelligence,

the bright, observant eyes, what did he say

to you, his veiled daughter, his shy shadow,

clouded in vulnerability, you, my slight, innocent mother?

What silly rot, what bit of nonsense, to ease your trembling,

knowing what it is you’d step out into: the unknown

of a marriage you thought you might not ever have,

though to a man who would love you in the only way

that matters, and were, I’d say, happy. What did he say?

What could any father say as the wind lifted your veil?

Russell Erwin