The Wedding

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By Lauren Bell

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The wedding bells fill the church.

The back pew, cushions of red velvet.

It’s as empty as can be, except for me.

Everyone else,

Women in their fancy dresses,

And men in their fine suits,

They all lined the front,

Shoved in like sardines on the

Red velvet seats of the wooden pews.

They’re trying to be as close as they can

On this happy day.

 

Music chimes in the air,

The piano that’s slightly off key.

The bridesmaids in an awful shade of

Champagne pink,

A single white rose in hand.

They smile, some pretend to cry

As they march the long runway

Of green carpet with a triangular pattern

That looks like it came out of the 70s.

 

This old church on 10th Street,

So many feet have walked these

Patterned green carpets,

So many memories on these

Red velvet seats.

And today just add one more.

 

The wedding march begins

On that awfully tuned piano.

We all stand as the bride walks in,

Artfully placed at her father’s side.

Her dress is a little too poofy,

Her makeup is a little too overdone,

And her hair is so high it could probably

Touch the heavens in this holy old church.

She stares and marches towards her groom,

Who briefly makes eye contact with me,

Before slowly dragging his eyes back to the bride.

As soon as she arrives to the front

And her father gives her away,

The pastor begins to speak.

As more and more words are said,

I begin to fidget.

“Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

So I stand.

 

And then I leave.

And I forever hold my peace.