This is a wedding poem, written for Claire and Ryan 3-19-16
photo by Kathleen Quinn
If love was a straight shot,
it would miss the point:
The point of staying up late
to proffer liaisons of laughter and
contented, quiet companionship
while the other finishes an essay.
The point of acquiring a speeding ticket,
while over-eagerly rushing to Beloit
just to arrive in the nick of time
to spectate the other’s game.
The point of skyping at odd hours
while the other explores
the essence of la vie in Nantes.
The point of dwelling in frigid temperatures
in the dead of winter in a place
where space heaters don’t cut it
and door frames don’t close it,
but cuddles from the other
make things alright.
The point of sleeping in the mud
no shower, no tub
to bask in cheers with beers
and your bearded dear.
The point of driving back and forth
from Chi to High and High to Chi
to balance labor and love.
The point of waking up early on Sundays
because the loss of sleep is worth
the joy of joining family for brunch.
The point of dropping on one knee
even though it’s raining out
to turn a good thing into a lifetime.
The point of cheering each other on
and feeling all the more confident
because the other is by your side
in this journey called life.
The arrow cannot miss when guided by this kind of love.