They were decked out in finery to celebrate me.
My beloved grandmother wrapped in a velveteen shawl.
My devoted mother in a flowing evergreen gown.
My girlfriend, keeper of childhood secrets,
in a springtime frock.
And the flower girls in ruffled yellow tutus.
I stood in white,
not as a symbol of innocence,
but like a snowbell peeping up through the wintery crust,
gazing at a new season with wonder and apprehension.
They are all gone, my former loved ones,
and now I am among the guests
waiting to honor a new bride
with a shower of white-petal blessings.