(I've got two completely different poems working here under the same overall theme. I kind of like the second stanza though.)
You can tell a lot by looking at a couple's wedding photos.
No matter what, each photo tells a story, an intricate web
of love and celebration and family. Every stitch of the lace
dress or the pant suit worn at the Justice of the Peace
is a reminder of the battle to get the in laws to agree
or the mixing of races, nationalities, cultures.
There was a woman, sitting in a frame, delicate lace
hanging in a sheath from her body, a wreath of white
roses crowning her dark hair. Black and white,
faded and wrinkled, the woman had a quiet pose
about her, a silent nod of happiness. Bright red lips,
porcelain skin, black eyes, she stood.
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