I don't know what to say
when they ask if I want the cloth
and satin binding, or only the polyester
sleeves; or if I want a spray of cattleya
draped on my arm. They lay the hurry-up-
sewn dress on a clean covered mattress,
put a pair of white strappy shoes right
by the hem. A gauzy veil froths
like water on top of a pillow
and the rhinestone beads cut
like tears. When I think about
this moment years later, I can't
even remember the shape of my face.