Queen of Spades ♠️

I‘m getting ready for the wedding,

I put on my black dress.

It’s long, elegant and full of grace.

I struggle to get into it.

Others around me seem arranged;

ready for the festivities.

Elegantly, swiftly, and gracefully

running past and all around me.

Family and friends.

Equipped strangers.

As I battle with the elegance,

grapple with the grace,

untrained in the beauty

of my elegant black dress.

My legs feel weighted,

I realize my ordinary clothes

lie underneath my dress.

Stiff, unfashionable, heavy.

A brown tank top.

Two bras~ one with an underwire,

another just stifling me.

Layers of disheveled rolled-up garments

to sort through, to hassle with.

I don‘t remove my black dress,

I just work on getting them off.

The elegant black dress covers me.

I notice everyone’s attending the wedding before me.

I feel them brush by me,

the room empties ….

I sense the heaviness of my frame~

the miscarried black dress.

I look at myself for awhile,

and the long mirror knows.

I put on makeup, fix my hair,

find some jewelry ....

movements that have been memorized,

yet are not a part of me.

I smooth out the elegance.

I fix my straps and look for grace.

I stare at myself.

I am the last one.

In a beautiful elegant dress

.... late to the wedding.