My Sister Bride

My Sister Bride The day I weep for you in silence Through my pores, this hot evening in October, You are smiling. It is the start of this year’s wedding season. In emblazoned red you sit there waiting Kohl-eyed. Your henna-smeared hands clasped in your lap Like limp wounded birds. I cannot breathe for fear of breaking. Do you smell my desperation? Do you know, my sister bride Or do you think it best to hide behind false bravado? In the pure twenty-two carat gold Hanging leaden round your neck Are you choked by my tradition, Do I cast you in the mould? The veil falls heavy on your shoulder Like a cross that you will carry from today Without salvation at the end Vain supplication, barb-wire words, and rags of pride. And only part-possession of your self, My sister bride. This day, your wedding day You are a burnt out star in a final brilliant blaze. You are beautiful. A tinsel-clad sacrificial lamb Magenta-dyed, led in with drums. An offering to the gods of men. And just for this day you are glorified, My sister bride.