Seventy Years Married

Today in 1945, in a Catholic Church in Chicago, Illinois, my parents laughed, smiled, dressed in their finest, and, surrounded by family and friends they exchanged wedding vows. This poem honors their marriage of 70 years.

Seventy Years Married

I remember the photo

stark in black and white,

young promises exchanged

before God and family,

held steady for seventy years

and counting.

On that day, he wore army issued

olive-drab, wool garments, pressed

shirt, polished shoes and a peaked cap

over a full head of thick black hair

his face covered by a boyish grin

ready to conquer the world.

She wore white, her wavy brown hair

cascading across shoulders caressed

by soft fabric, bodice angled to reveal

a silver cross draped around her neck,

face tilted towards his, deep dimples

enhanced by her joy-filled smile.

Sisters, brothers, parents, aunts,

uncles and multitudes of friends

gathered in the church, tossed rice

afterward, celebrations of family

long-life, many children, they danced,

drank, laughed, sang until night called.

Seventy years of marriage, a maze

of fascinating corridors, dead-ends,

children, camping, financial struggles,

long hours, sickness, health, disruptions,

arguments, forgiveness, shared adventures,

memories made, memories kept, faith

or something akin to that deep commitment

kept them together while all the marriages

of their children dissolved, steadfast

in their desire to help and assist others

and now, bonded in difficult times, stroke's effects

stealing her from him but he won't leave her side.

Seventy years and counting. Not many marriages

manage a promise this long and strong.

by judy Beaston

September 29, 2015