Two Honeymoons and a Movie
Lucille Lang Day

I held a pillow to hide my small breasts, served
burned macaroni and cheese in a square dish, white
with blue cornflowers. The hours unwound like yarn
that we couldn't knit in our honeymoon house.
Bored with me, he invited two buddies to join us.

Decades later, I wed again. The housekeepers left
a bouquet outside the door. The house floated on love.
I found a blue vase to hold it. Hummingbirds with
fiery throats and emerald backs stitched the air
with sequins of light. We watched from a window.

In the movie, the Countess was a buttercup, the wife
a dark iris. The husband, a handsome young lawyer,
gathered them, loving the golden. Victorian scheming
kept them apart. Years later, he couldn’t bear to see
her again. May she find a blue vase, upstairs in Paris.


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