Roses in my Hands

I held the dusty red roses, 
In one hand,
And then the other. 
I kept switching hands. 
I had no idea 
Which hand to hold them with. 

I beamed. 
And then I smiled. 
And then I smiled some more. 
I kept smiling. 
Until I could only smile. 
Beaming.

Together,
Dusty red roses in hand (right hand?),
We walked up the stairs. 
He opened the door.
Let me in first. 
He followed.
We reached the office. 
Beaming.

Oh no. 
But.
We forgot the paperwork. 
Would today be the day? 

Dusty red roses in hand (left hand?), 
He held the elevator door for me. 
Down to the basement. 
Room B20. Left or right? 

She asked. Online application? 
Oh no. 
But. We didn’t know. 
Go. Across the hall. To the computer. 
Fill it out. Come back. 

She typed. And typed.
And she printed. And printed. 
She waited and waited. 
We waited. 
Dusty red roses in hand (both hands?).

Go back up. To the office. 
And. 
Sign the waiver. 
And wait for the bailiff. 

Beaming. 
I smiled. And I smiled some more. 
I kept smiling. 
Until I could only smile. 
I beamed. 
The dusty red roses in hand (both hands). 

They called our names. 
We walked in,
Past the gate, and 
Stood. Between the tables. 

The judge walked in. 
Congenially, asked about our relationship. 
And he said lots of things. But I couldn’t think. 
Of anything except, 
My one and only. Holding my hand (the right). 

And I held the dusty red roses on my left. 
Until the judge told me to put them down. 
My one and only said I do. And I said I do. 
And we placed the rings on each other’s fingers. 
And we repeated the words, the vows. 
And we were pronounced
Husband and Wife. 

The dusty red roses now sit in water in a vase. 
On our kitchen table. 
Beaming.