The itchy dress
and the rented colonial manor are ill-suited. Which is to say, they are not the right fit. Still, she stands obedient on the raised wooden platform of an I Do day; its Norman Rockwell threshold propped open at her feet. But those aren’t her toes.
The baseless white is everywhere: ribbon-wrapped chairs, wedding cake, guestbook. They form a muted horizon, wash away everything except her mother’s tight red velvet dress. With a black jacket, it dazzles.
The bride waits for the groom at the altar; an arbor of well-intended, but not-meant vows cascading over her - a trellis.