She tries so hard
not to photobomb the bride
and her maids
as they wave good-bye
in Loring Alley.

She tries so hard
to wave good-bye
to the words bride and maid.

Mews or no mews,
a blackberry massacre
on pale brick
might interfere
with the way

she places
her surviving oar
against the shop wall.

She would swing the red gate
wide open
if she could reach
beyond a nightmare’s
wood and knife

with her left hand
to touch the love
song’s broken wing.