She waits
crowned in bridal illusion
under glowing cobalt fruit,
twigs ribboned together
beneath cotton-colored clouds.

Harmonies tangle—
hollow echoes
carrying centuries of tradition
Mendelssohn’s wedding march,
a high-tech rebirth
on electric speakers.

Sudden blustering—
lightning forecast
creating ricochets of thunder
ripping through cascades of rain
hailing Captain Noah

until she stops,
takes a deep breath
to tame her wild self
and tells it, Max-like,
to be still.

Floods recede—
music chimes.
a woman emerges,
her candy-apple hair
crowned in roses and lace,
facing the bride waiting for her
cocooned in swathes of white.

Alison McBain
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