She might have seen the warning signs
or been more practical. But standing there
looking out into her future
all she sees is love.

The two assume shape of wedded bliss,
conform to expectations that range from
his-and-her PJs to standard first-year arguments –
the direction in which toilet paper should hang…
what’s for supper – oh no, not that again…
who does what and when and why…
it really does matter to somebody
in this household, you know!

Contours smooth, no rough edges here,
friends and family pronounce them happy
with authority equivalent to that they heard first
in minister’s booming voice as he introduced them
as Mr. and Mrs., husband and wife, two become one.
Yes, they look the part, in love, already talking
future family, finishing each other’s sentences
by their third anniversary.

But inside things are cracking, spilling
out, the leaks becoming evident, her confidence
wavering. So she redoubles her efforts, circles
the wagons, expends her energy running faster
to keep everything under control even as
her dreams spin off into the atmosphere
and he seems not to care.

She had married a dream; she married
the man she hoped he would become.
Only now does it occur to her that
there were dreams besides those
wrapped up in him. She vows
to trust love to help her
find them again.

She might have seen the warning signs
or been more practical. But standing there
looking out into her future
all she sees is love.