Here I come down the aisle again, all a-blush
and halting across the carpet’s carnation plush.

The man at the altar unblinking—eyes negative
black—his smile striving forth to get me, guts me,
_                                            _stops me lockstep.

His smile down under the hem of my frothy things,
fingering the bones of my catfish corset
_                              _like he can guess my true name.

A tail tumbles out the back of his morning coat.
_              _A splice.
_                            _He turns to the pastor, says,
“Someone’s been telling lies about us.”

I’m kneeling at the altar. The pastor calls for
_                                             _the laying on of hands:
“Who will bless this woman’s tender heart and loins?”
_               _A silence.

Not the groomsmen. They are newspaper flat.
The bridesmaids have long since dissolved
like sugar in their satin shoes.
_                                                             _This is how “I do.”

_               _A shake.
There’s our waxed limo lurching forth.
There’s his slaw-white boutonniere
_               _against the green hills of Tennessee.

_               _A scratch.
Then I am perched on his mother’s vinyl ottoman.
_               _She props her embolistic ankles on my lap.
_               _She sees babies under my peplum hips.

Cottonmouths slink through the French doors,
_                               _coil round my kitten heels.
The men on the porch take turns handling
_                               _my husband’s ten-foot fishing pole.

_               _A prayer.
“He will crush your head, and you will strike his heel.”
_                               _Everyone’s drunk on milk punch.
_                               _No one’s watching where they step.

During the Superbowl spectacular,
_                               _a stray pig gets loose on the field.
_               _A cheer goes up.
Something tickles my insides like a catfish whisker.

Quietly, my father-in-law feeds me
_                               _frosting roses from his finger.
From the kitchen, we hear,
_               _“I’ll get a gun in her hand if it kills her.”