At a friend’s wedding,
the pastor questioned
if anyone objected.
I visited this church
when the pastor baptized
me this time last year.
I wasn’t just anyone,
I was the one for Audrea.
And this couldn’t go on.
I raised my hand
as a sea of heads turned my way.
I shied away from second thoughts
and followed through to show
why she should not marry this man.
Audrea’s mortified eyes softened
as I spoke to a tone-deaf crowd.
Words composed like a love letter
spilled through my teeth.
I extended my arms, cupping my hands.
I have your heart.
And we both know I wasn’t giving it back,
not unless she returned mine,
but we knew that’d never happen.
Audrea left the altar with a grin that showed her teeth.
She jumped into my arms
and kissed me like she used to do before
our parents told us we were dead.
The audience wiped away tears and applauded
as though our wedding had aligned with
an autumn expression.
We’re married.
And our parents are dead.
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