Fouled Bride

Early in the morning
on her wedding day
she traipsed off to the
aesthetician,
had two broken nails,
replaced on the index and middle fingers
on her left hand
B false nails glued over her own B
painted in bright red polish.

Late afternoon
at the church,
as she stood before the alter
in her silk dress
beside her groom,
the organ playing,
the soprano lifting everyone
into the heavens,
she saw it first:
two quarter moons of red nail polish
and white crusty glue
where the false nails had fallen off.

By the end of the day,
after the vows were made,
photos taken,
six-course dinner served,
speeches delivered,
dancing stilled,

after all those eyes
looking her way,
she had become adept at
curling those two fingers
under her thumb,
into her fist,
below the table,
under his collar,
between the folds of her white dress.

Carlinda D'Alimonte