Is sometimes all it takes to capture happiness.
If you’re lucky.
I’ve done it. Thousands of times.
It never felt like a Nikon
I was holding in my hands
but their lives.
The hours alone are punishing,
arriving at first light at the bride’s parent’s house
before the makeup even goes on.
Forty pounds of equipment in tow,
sunrise, nerves
already beginning to fray.
The bride for starters is never quite satisfied with
her dress or her hair
or her bridesmaids.
The groom often bears the look of someone
who has just been given
some very bad news.
Groomsmen are a particular challenge.
Lining them up,
they visibly stiffen.
Roll your shoulders, unclench your jaw.
Pretend you have actually met, I cajole.
To no avail.
And there’s always the visual artiste in the crowd
who tries wresting the camera away from you,
just for fun.
By the time I get to grab a bite
the buffet has been ravaged.
The wedding cake looks like a Dali painting.
Drunken husbands and wives
remembering their own ancient vows
push themselves in front of me at night’s end.
I still love her, you know, he slurs.
She rolls her eyes, shakily fixing her lipstick
before I freeze them in the blink of an eye.
I am always the last to leave
in the wee hours
just as the cleaners arrive.
I gather them together
for the last image of the day
They wonder why the fuss.
They talk about this woman heading off alone in the dark.
Exhausted
from chasing happiness all day long.
A sequence of my poems has been published in a hardcover book entitled The Music of Leaving Poems by Tricia McCallum