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By John I. Blair

They met at a Tulsa dance hall
And wed in a minister’s parlor.
The bride wore a dotted cotton frock,
The groom his only suit.

They moved to a two-room rent house
Hard by his sister’s back door.

Dust leaked in at every joint,
Sifting a silty gloom
Over the milk glass dresser set
That was all she’d brought from home.

And she used to wipe it every day
And washed the curtains thin.

They never really said out loud,
But someplace words don’t work
Swore the child inside her
Would live where flowers bloom

And know them both for how they’d loved,
Not how poor they’d been.

©2006 John I. Blair  

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