Saturday, April 10, 2021

napowrimo day no. 10

 epithalamium 

 

We mistook the wedding  

for a funeral. The beginning 

for the end. Too much white 

 

satin and bits of fur. An easy 

mistake in the museum’s dim light. 

The fright we felt thicken  

 

In our tiny bodies like a mouse. 

We line up in the pews and sing hallelijah 

but God cares not for the small 

 

things, belly crawl and twisted tail. 

Even perfect, we were already 

broken.  The farmer who wrapped us  

 

in pillowcases and set us loose 

in the river.  Never stood a chance, 

floating our way toward happiness. 

 

Or here, where the halogens flicker  

but we’re too blind to know  

Which is the bride?  Which is the ghost? 

 

Which creature holds the bouquet? 

Which the flowers on the grave? 

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