The First Meeting
the train was arriving,
pushing forward a mass of air
she held her skirt down as
she rushed to the platform.
Ten minutes late after two
years of correspondence,
she scanned the crowd
looking for the man in the
picture she held in her
hand, listened for his voice
that she had heard over the
phone so many times.
There he was, waiting,
smiling at her, in spite
the train was arriving,
pushing forward a mass of air
she held her skirt down as
she rushed to the platform.
Ten minutes late after two
years of correspondence,
she scanned the crowd
looking for the man in the
picture she held in her
hand, listened for his voice
that she had heard over the
phone so many times.
There he was, waiting,
smiling at her, in spite
of her tardiness
Poem based on wedding description of Marianne Van Pelt and Jonathon Self from http://www.nytimes.com/2009/01/11/fashion/weddings/11VOWS.html?_r=1&ref=weddings
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