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.