MARRIAGE

 

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I say, come on. You step

into the bathroom’s yellow light

 

to kneel before the wound

at the base of my spine.

 

Black and red as a pool of wine, 

there is no end to it,

 

like a second mouth, the one

that does half my talking,

 

that spoke behind my lips

in our wedding vows.

 

Double-voiced as a ranunculus,

we kissed you together,

 

a blood rush to the surface.

Now, you face it each morning

 

and each night until it finishes

its slow inner stitching.

 

You tuck a length of gauze

as clean and white as a veil

 

inside, so delicately that my mother

who kneels beside you says, he is so gentle.

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You take over. The work

has become yours.

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BIO: ​

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Meg Reynolds is a poet, artist, and teacher from New England. Her work has been published in a number of literary journals including Prairie Schooner, New England Review and the Kenyon Review. Reynolds' poetry was featured in Best New Poets 2023. Her third collection, Condition, won Inlandia Institute's Hilary Gravendyk prize in 2024 and is forthcoming in spring of 2026. Learn more at https://www.megreynoldspoetry.com/