Unconventional Bride

From a distance, she sees the groom in sweat; moist with tears, his lips tremble. At the pace of voices, she marches; line of gazes: her path. The contrast of white against red; petals are swept by her trail. Behind the lace she gets a glimpse of tomorrow and yesterday. She kisses her mother, who smiles; as well as her father, who cries. Then she reaches the arms of the man: august in coat and tie. Together, they walk the road made of velvet and wilted rose: This day, they may be them, but later, they will be one. This moment, though, makes her break; and mourn like facing death, for the image of bells and doves is a mere illusion in her mind. Today, the coil will be worn, though not by the lady in this poem. For she is the one in the weathered bench sitting together with the wedding guests.