Did you make jewelry from Jupiter beetles or 
did you eat strawberry cake?

There had been so many weddings 
that July that they ran out of diamonds
and all the ladies in their off-white '
dresses complained to their soon-to-be husbands
in off-black vests that they had
been waiting a long time for something
shiny to make everything worth it.
They had already picked out strawberry 
icing for the cake and they had decided
that orchids were always meant for 
their alter. At night when they 
went to fall asleep they chanted 
in the collective chorus of the cicadas
That everything was "meant to be, meant to be,
meant to be."
One woman who had never loved anyone as much
as she loved the hem of her off-white
wedding dress said to the window
that night, "I do, I do,
I believe in diamonds and I believe in July."
But her fiance didn't hear because
he was catching fire flies
for the center pieces on the tables
because they had run out of candles too
(but that was an account of the bees--
they had left for somewhere else
where people don't think that candles mean
promises).
And so I caught Jupiter beetles and I tied
them to metal bands. I told
everyone the rings were sterling silver when they
were only washers and the twist-ties
off of bags of potato rolls. 
The almost-husbands were so relieved 
that they did not ask what stones they 
were and did not ask how much they cost--
I swiped credit cards between two
slates of granite as if I were actually charging
them something other than promises--
everyone noticed they had the same
stones in their rings but they said
that they had meant to do it-- that
their soon-to-be husbands were "so 
thoughtful" "so wise" "so much brighter
than bees and candles"
And at night the women filled in for the cicadas
and sang, "I do believe in diamonds
and I do believe in strawberries and I do
believe in sterling silver."
But when they finally got to sleep
their husbands were still trying to find
fire flies. The Jupiter beetles
hated the wedding but they waited out
of respect for tradition and I was
there to keep an eye on them-- we 
were partners now. But come August
everything is warmer than July ever seemed
and the fire flies have died-- not from the jars
but from the lack of candles and
the abundance of summer. They hadn't
even gotten to try the strawberry
that sat in the fridge after the ceremonies.
But all the ladies still in off-white
wedding dresses and men still pressed neat
in their off-black vests still put on their
not-sterling rings as if there were still Jupiter
beetles and still something more than potato rolls.
There were no more cicadas left to chant with
the ladies at night when they
began saying, "I do , I do, I do
believe in Jupiter beetles and I do
believe in candles but never
fireflies or promises."