We visited the Church where my Mother was married;
Many years ago.
A towering, gloomy place
Empty and cold inside.
I told my daughter a story of that wedding
Uncertain to come to the alter,
She married a day late;
Family and guests
obliged to come back.
Red hair spilling from under her hat;
Her partisan laugh
Rang around the dark,
Reaching out to the furthest corner
Where, a small door opened.
A few elderly locals emerged
Glancing my way, they moved on
out into the car park;
and the spitting rain.