My mother got married in a hand stitched dress
that each of her four sisters contributed a  
piece of their souls into the embroidered lace:
a skein of swans in perfect v formation
flew up her left sleeve, doves fluttered down
her right, peacock trains fanned cardioid eyes
of the most luminous white across her torso and
bluebirds hermitaged in the ivory lines of her back.
And since, they knew from experience that men  
are fickle- each secretly sewed coins and jewels
into the hem, for the inevitable day when her
children would scream too loud in his ears and he
will see only her fat and leave like a wolf in the night.