it’s a wedding, not a funeral
I tell myself
white dress
vows traded through
clasped hands
eyes of two people
happy to drown in the other
it’s a wedding, not a funeral
but I’m wearing black
heart just a deeper shade
of bruise
processional music begins
couple walks down the aisle
wedding, not a funeral–
all I can see is my love
walking out the door
leaving me with a list of
(maybe) nevers
tombstone heart pushing away
the finality in the tolling
of the bell
I tell myself–
there’s always maybe.