I Heard He's Gotten Remarried
Something Old:
The children in the torn photo
You hide them in a box along with the other pictures
Whispers of something once perfect
He's never talked about those whispers
But you hear them when he holds your hand
Something New:
A wedding dress never been touched
It wraps your body in an envelope
Made to be pretty, laced in cursive letters
You hold your heart out in a letter
He cradles you with anticipation, ready to rip open your paper
To spread its contents on the floor
For you are a souvenir from the past
Something Borrowed:
The ring he gives you
Is made of the promises he used to give my mother
And the same words he whispered in our ears
Are now tattooed on your arms
The love letters used to be written for mom
But she’s no longer home
So they arrive on “your” doorstep
Something Blue:
The bruises are older now, starting to fade
But the blue betrays you
Hide it behind a smile and an excuse
Learn to say it like an anthem
Instead of ending family phone calls with ”I love you”
Finish with “Nothing, I’m fine.”