Poetry Daily: Kathleen Halme III, "The Brain Tells Us What Is Real"

The nuptials were so sweet. The papier-mâché swan
piñata lost its copper beak. Lila took home the head
and S of neck. When the blindfolded bride split the bird

little picture magnets of groom and bride fell
below the cherry tree into the luffing blossoms.
Like quotation marks, a small black baby llama

sprang across the orchard to its mother being petted
over a split rail fence by the wedding party. The cake
was a whipped cream, lemon curd dream. Baskets

of chocolate bars wrapped in their gold names were passed;
we could have kept nibbling the couple into bliss, but
the evening chill was coming in. Hipsters in black

blanched and shifted hips; they held their flutes
then looked relieved when the back-tossed bouquet
of saucer orchids fell at little Rosie's feet. Her sister

has the head and neck; she has the flowers.
The bride and groom are in Hawaii now — asleep —
bubbles breaking across their backs.