WILD GIRLS

What the Bride Wore

A white silk jersey gown,
close-fitting bodice, bouffant skirt
of marquisette. Tulle halo in her hair.

After the honey dropped off the moon—
how Mom told it, winking at Dad—
she accepted synthetics, her closet

a department store paradise lush with
eye-popping shades of yellow and blue,
an occasional red. Mom worshipped

Alfred Dunner, adored his drip-dries.
She even whispered his name
into holy water before Sunday mass.

Silk’s fine for the wedding, she said, but you ought
to have plenty of polyester for the long haul.

Shirley J. Brewer
Poetry East
Wild Girls