Jessie Carty
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Marriage Scales
1
The young bride felt she was marrying her soul mate. This thought implied she was a damaged organ; that like a river bed she was missing the especially well worn rock that could help her on her way to forming an ox bow lake.
2
The root of married is mar.
3
And she wanted it: a wedding, a life with a partner. She registered for gifts online but not china because that was old fashioned. She, however, swore a veil. And she saved it for him, for that night.
4
Say Do. I do. Re. Fo(re)ver. Me. With you. Fa. A long way to find. So. Simple a kiss to seal it. La. She wantes to sing out. Ti. A hinge.
5
And mar becomes a battle, mar(ti)al law, because of the minutia: whether the toilet seat was left up or whether the towels were folded just so. She wears her war paint to bed, and as a concession, nothing else. Her key to negotiations are the layers of linens upon their bed. “Did you look the door?” She asks. The duvet is folded down. “Did you put out the mail?” Light blanket is next. What will she ask him before she pulls off the unfitted sheet?
Bio
Jessie Carty's writing has appeared in publications such as The Main Street Rag, Iodine Poetry Journal and The Houston Literary Review. She is the author of two poetry chapbooks At the A & P Meridiem (Pudding House 2009) and The Wait of Atom (Folded Word 2009) as well as a full length poetry collection, Paper House (Folded Word 2010). Jessie is a freelance writer and writing coach. She is also the photographer and editor for Referential Magazine. She can be found around the web, especially at http://jessiecarty.com where she blogs about everything from housework to the act of blogging itself.