The truth hangs inside
of a cedar closet that
hasn't been opened
in forever
It's knotted and tangled
just like her, at least
we hope she might
Recognize some of the
dresses, dressed up
just like she
has always
been
(a ***** in the making
living in sin)
a march of decades
minus the wedding
rice and the fair and
going price of a
groom
Poor sullied should have
been bride if not for the
timing, the misaligned
stars,
a fate not of her making
yet who but she carried the
scars?
June is a month she would
like to sleep through, a long
funeral
as each of her sisters met her
match, down the aisle, disposed
of, as well they should have
been but
this one refused to disappear
this one is
all too present
and what to do
with this one
here?
(They have already inscribed
her gravestone, she, without
the good manners to make good
on the date) t'is her wedding
day and finally here
darling don't be late)
having read so many novels set in the Victorian era, it's striking to note how thoroughly ******* a woman was in the event of not finding a husband... not to mention the stigma attached to being "independent" in thought and deed. the only way a woman could possibly get by on her own was to be wealthy and even then security is not assured- so often family wealth skipped by any daughters ans went straight to the male progeny. if a woman failed to secure a "good marriage" it's anyone's guess how cruel her fate might be...