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Martyn Lowery

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Wedding Feast At Canaan

It was his first miracle, they say.

And that day it seemed
Only proper that he should come
When the guests were already
Thirsty and fractious, wanting
Their wine. And our own day
Spoiling under a too hot sun
Until he stepped in; a quiet
Unassuming man with his gaze
Fixed on something more.

He didn’t stay long. I remember
Smiling thanks, a nod.
Oh, I was grateful, don’t get me wrong,
But she was all my magic then,,
My song of songs, and our passion
Strong as temple walls.

Things change. We followed
His teachings for a time, enamoured
Of his lover’s creed, but children came
With their hot needs
And then the years
Of scrimping, debt,

And sudden angry squalls
Followed by regret;
Until, one day, love stopped.
When we heard he’d died,
And the how of it, it conjured no grief,
Just dry stares, and vague relief;
A sullen kiss, betrayal,
In that he was no different.

Domesticity and death. Thirty-three
Years, a life-time.
Evenings, now, I potter about
In dust, among
Rind and empty wine-skins,
Remembering – him and his
Miracles and her so beautiful,
With my eyes on the birds
Nailed to a distant skyline.

 

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