They’ve gagged me
with a tensor bandage; intended for my veil, yes, but
the veil is a cotton/polyester blend;
twilight lavender, floral print.
The bandage scratches
my forehead, slides off and into
my mouth, again, and again,
Again. They laugh and shriek.
My dress is of coloured scarves, tucked
into my bra straps and the waist of my jeans,
tied around my wrists
and my elbows and my knees.
My bouquet is made of nylon.
My feast is made of plastic
and velcro. We rip it off the plates.
The bridesmaids wear their shoes inside
two-inch size six heels. They say I’m such a beautiful bride.
At the end of the aisle,
they sit me in a rubber chair,
spider small hands over my scalp. They chant
(or it may only be one or two; high-pitched,
cacophonous) now it’s time
to cut your hair. Now it’s time to
cut your hair. Now
it’s time to cut
Meghan Bell's writing has recently appeared or is forthcoming in The New Quarterly, Carousel, Joyland, The Impressment Gang, The Maynard, The Feathertale Review, and the Minola Review. She is the publisher and graphic designer for Room, and recently spearheaded the publication of their fortieth anniversary anthology, Making Room: Forty Years of Room Magazine (co-published with Caitlin Press). Find her on Twitter at @meghanlbell.