I started to shake
in the vestibule when it was time
to walk down the aisle
on my mother’s arm
in my off-white gown
with its organza shroud.
I wore no veil, I was no virgin
unscathed by love or death,
no stranger to this passage
we’d walked clad in black
three months before.
On I stepped
clutching my mother’s elbow
into the shadow of death.
We walked,
she a column of stone
in lavender satin,
I a reed swaying.
My thorned bouquet
pale purple
spiked
with White Virginia
same as his casket spray.