shot gun wedding

i do not have enough canned food.
we are, despite all our efforts,
probably not going to make it very far
into the apocalypse. my grief has 
a suitcase full of chocolate coins.
my grief has a little bug cage where
all the caterpillars never change. 
this week the weather channel boasted 
that we were in "peak color" for the season.
trees are showing their teeth. getting red
in the morning guts. you suggest in passing
that maybe we should get married.
when i first met you i was sick 
with romance. i planned so many weddings.
in the forest. on a boat. made of deer.
flowers falling from a tear in a cloud.
now, i feel like if we don't do it
we won't have the chance. i am opposed
to all rituals that the state peers in on.
i believe then it might no longer
be a ritual. still, i am hungry for the life
which i do not have. the hole in our fence
is where the leopard slugs come with
their flutes. a wellness influence 
is selling detox kits again. she's in the windows
& then laughing in the chimney. 
you bought me a ring when we first met.
it has a break right at my finger's neck.
i consider how a promise is not 
an isolated phenomenon. instead, it happens
in the context of the burning world. 
i have become less & less sure that we 
make choices. or, at least, that people
like us make choices. i guess though if 
i am going to be backed into a corner i am glad 
to be backed into a corner with another
violet creature. i dream new rings for us.
ones made of headlights & wind. 
i want wild vows. no cheesy, "i do"
instead the old language of mountains.
a stillness that fills each other's sky.