My mother wore a blue suit on her wedding day.
She married my father in front of the justice of the peace.
Painfully young, they were a blank slate waiting for the world to
write their story. My mother, all of 25, living
in North Carolina. My father, newly divorced, not yet 30,
with a son he would not see again until age 30. My father,
handsome in his Marine green uniform--this I have from my mother’s stories.
No pictures record the union, no dried flowers pressed in a book,
or even a faded blue suit stored in the dark corner
of the attic. Just the two of them before a man, asking for justice,
standing before all that awaits them. When asked
why she didn’t want a church wedding, she said she didn’t want
to be given away. She wanted to go freely, leaving everything behind
only to meet this new couple, whom they would get to know
for the rest of their lives.