All of your ancestors come to your wedding

 

All of your ancestors come to your wedding

By horse, by canoe they come
dressed in grass skirts and beaver pelt hats.
They bring amphorae of wine,
barrels of ancient beer.

They fight. Belch. Kiss both cheeks.
They hug too tight, make ribald jokes.
They embarrass you utterly.
 
They paint flowers on your face
and weave sunshine in your hair.

They smoke sacred herbs. Chant,
pound on drums, sing in lost language.
They puff music in hollowed bamboo,
dance in circles, juggle flaming torches.
They draw antelope on the walls of your cave.

As dowry they bring generations of struggle,
millenniums of sacrifice. They will come
to your wedding whether you invite them or not.
 
Wish them welcome.

…..

First published in Sheila-Na-Gig. Thank you Hayley Mitchell Haugen, editor

Note: A few years ago I attended a backyard wedding, a humble affair, a small gathering because the bride’s parents and her entire family refused to attend. The groom was the wrong color, the wrong religion. He had worked for me briefly in construction until he realized he’d rather drive a truck. Bride and groom both had nothing in possessions—only love. When I looked into the defiant eyes of the bride taking her vows, I saw the spirits dancing there. In no way could her family boycott this wedding. You could sense them in the air. So I wrote this poem.