From beginning to end
she kept a straight face.
If she didn't, she would just explode.
The white, silk polka-dots
surrounded her, billowing
like an ivory cloud.
She grasped his finger tightly,
Her manicured hands sweating, feet throbbing.
The ring touched her head.
She had not promised herself to another.
She kept a straight face.
If she smiled, she would just burst.
On their heads were glorious crowns
of laurels and satin,
and they danced the ancient dance of Isaiah.
She kept a straight face,
if she didn't watch where she was going
she would fall, but he would catch her.
*May you be as loving as Isaac and Rebecca,
as fruitful as Jacob and Rachel.*
Another squeeze of his pinky, and a twitch of her cheek.
God grant many years!
Chant onlookers.
Her eyes flooded and washed away
her straight face.
Catching her soiled tears,
Papa's paisley black handkerchief.
She was still his little Tzeitel.