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)