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Bridesmaid

Bridesmaid

Swimmers, Javea
after Eavan Boland’s ‘Prisoners’

Everything after that was parody—

she’s watching from a ceremony’s periphery 
.  nothing acquiesced to  .  or chosen from  .  
positioned  .  or photographed  .
she’s throwing rice  .  coins  .  paper  .   
and could not be more precise than 
ritual requires  .  she remembers how 
freedom began  .  a child watching 
synchronised swimmers from the balcony 
of a cheap  .  across-the-street hotel 
in downtown Surfer’s Paradise  .  her father 
having terrible holiday dreams  .  each night  
saving the same straight-backed chair 
from falling  .  over and over  .  the same cliff  . 
and she thought about how unlike fish 
we are  .  the way a corps dives in unison 
never touching the bottom of the pool  . 
outstretched toes surfacing for air 
like pointy-toed dolphins  .  water-resistant 
sequins emerging in spray’s luminescence  . 
now she can’t stop witnessing the uncertain 
happiness of others  .  her closet filled 
with obsolete dresses  .  lime-green nylons  . 
pink rosebud florals  .  empire-lined maxis 
in cerise  .  mint  .  mauve  . . .  she’s serious  . 
this bride-to-be of equanimity  .  lying back 
in the blue  .  borrowed  .  old banana chair  .
a china-bone saucer from her mother’s 
inherited dowry Coalport set  .  yet to crack  . 
she is well-loved by all the loves she did not 
disappoint  .  she never considers light as white  . 
and likes the way she looks at life  .  goggleless