barbara ann smith

Shredding the Satin

I burned photo albums
tossed my gold band
laughed as I wore the veil
and shredded the white satin.
I stomped the shreds
pitched them into the fireplace
and watched as they burned.

I relinquished the old habit
of untruths, hidden secrets,
days and nights of lost time.
Our house, empty and cold,
a union never existed.
I burned the document
attesting to the fact
in an old moth filled trunk,

and hung my veil on a
deer's head in the basement.