Not as Rare as It Sounds

The cursed day arrived
and the double rainbow
made from God’s refracted tears
only made matters worse
because it meant the marriage
promised
would follow,
and the plays that she’d rehearsed
in fond, familiar fields
with her beloved sister
were silly words,
lines she’d learn to swallow.

For now, fingers doubled down
with fright, she whispers,
“Oh, let it be a long goodbye,”
her lap piled high
with beloved childhood verse
soon to be passed down
as she must walk the path
from pasture to church,
telling herself
this transition is not
as rare as it sounds.
But the words are
illusions
meant to soothe
the broken part of her.