Twin grins flashing, my parents look happy in the photos.
Rings freshly slid onto fourth fingers, daisy bouquet
Awaiting its flight, newly-minted man and wife gleam
In tuxedo black and taffeta white. Young and dumb, they can
Not see past the tiered cake they cut, the photographer’s bulb.
Ignorant of all that will come—her chemical imbalance, the
Noose of postpartum—the pair smiles on, unaware their
Vows, fragile as veils, will tear in just seven years. In square
After square, no hint of their destruction appears, and even if
I could journey back, spare them, I dare not change a thing,
Needing all of this to happen, or else I never live.
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Jill Michelle teaches at Valencia College in Orlando, Florida. Some publications in which her poetry and creative nonfiction have appeared or are forthcoming include The Fox Hat Review, Wizards in Space, Please See Me, 86Logic, Sutterville Review, Paper Dragon, Halfway Down the Stairs, Prospectus and Delmarva Review.
Latest posts by Jill Michelle (see all)
- Why This Must Be - 21st July 2021