I'm standing at the back of the church,
my face cold beneath the veil.
I stare at my shoes.
The fabric is designed to take a colored dye,
but I've left them to their appointed and appropriate white.
I could kill an ant in a corner with a toe so pointy.
A groom stands at the front of the church.
I stare at my shoes.
The fabric is designed to take a colored dye,
but I've left them to their appointed and appropriate white.
I could kill an ant in a corner with a toe so pointy.
A groom stands at the front of the church.
The one thing I know for sure is that I don’t know anything.
In three minutes I will drag eight pounds of crinoline
up the aisle and stop at his feet.
A guitar string wallows out of tune.
People are scattered among the pews looking around
at the other people looking around.
I imagine my beaded hem tick-ticking on the
pine wood floor, swishing to acoustic music,
everyone’s smile in place.
I hear the skuffle of my shoe…
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