My Sister’s Wedding

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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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