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For the ring bearer named Rosie, I sought exotic eats:
three oxtail, two bottles of juvenile wine and one fine
specimen of grasshopper, in a deep molasses glaze.
Gardenias and kelp for her breakfast omelets.

Reduction of sherry and fiddlestick splinters;
the stock of seven cinnamon sticks and seven soft shell crabs;
sorbet of burdock root, 100 proof rum and mint.

Take me to the wedding, she said. Take me to the parties
cheek to cheek. She said, I want to visit the seashore
and lie over every inch. The wedding belonged to her
childhood; she dreamed a jar of fireflies;

they took a week to collect. I toasted them in chili oil
and built a sweet sauce of cardamom and lime
to cut the heat. She was not hungry, she was torpid,

her eyes were open wide. The day before the wedding,
she demanded I embed the rings in Greek yoghurt topped
with honey and almond meringue; she swallowed the dish in an instant
and ran out the door in strappy, lavender heels.

©