I bought a new dress today; I keep getting them dirty.
This one's a burial shroud too; the one I always wanted
I'm a bride and my veil is the pall
that hides my glory.
I've trimmed my wick; my lamp is full
and I've been standing outside looking up the road for 17 years.
It's a dusty spot, and some others waiting with me
have made it a home of sorts with all the conveniences,
but I can spot a counterfeit,
and on clear days I can see the room built for me--the place prepared
where I will live with my husband.
Hmmm, my husband.
Tonight the whole city smells like fresh grapes and honeysuckle
I'm waiting outside again because this is not my home anymore
the breeze carries traffic sounds and yellow pine pollen
the sounds of all my longing;
the seed went into the ground, died, and birthed a tree
the tree produced fruit and the fruit dropped from the branch
fell into the ground and died.
just bury me in my wedding dress
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