Our Wedding Is Eight Months Away
and this morning, the puppy cried at our feet
while we slept, and
you untangled yourself from me
and took him out into the cold.
When you returned, I felt the chill
of October lingering on you
and our baby (paws dewy, nose wet)
pressed himself against your chest
found my face in the dark
and settled soft between us.
In eight months I will stand beside you
and become your wife.
Everyone we know will smile up at us
and we will hug their necks, reminisce,
dream of days to come,
the whole thing nice, beautiful
and unnecessary.
This morning, the sky barely a whisper,
you reached for me in your sleep:
this
is the altar,
it came
long before.
Mary Chandler Philpott is an MA student at the University of Virginia. She currently lives in Manassas.