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Beautiful Things

I sat in the back of the

library with my seventeen-

year-old friends. With heads

down, we flipped through

bridal magazines and whispered

and nodded our approval

or disdain of satin gowns,

ornate invitations, wedding rings.

But, while my friends saw men,

babies, houses, and commitments,

I saw designs, remembrances

beading, embossed paper, and diamonds.

Thirty-plus years later, I still

see those beautiful things:

the lace-covered satin pleats,

raised lettering, and sparkling rings.

Nothing more. Not a man.

Not a relationship. Nothing.

All I saw that day, in front of me,

past the magazines,

was homework, graduation,

college, and beautiful things.


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