My Sister’s Wedding


Your pink gown is one less thing for me to pack.
You are already wearing it,
deep underground.

My mother made it for you.
Years ago she carried me and I carried you
(before I took my first breath I carried you!)
A mother and a daughter, a mother and a daughter—and STOP.

Your death has turned my elbows into water.
I am not sure how I will manage to hold a bouquet
of flowers and make it down the aisle.

A wedding is all about family
and welcoming new members
I wonder if the irony will land on anyone else.

We’ll light a candle behind the altar
in your honor,
and that will be nice.

I’m sure it will be a happy time,
even with the blood
spooling out of my eyes.

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