The tulle veil
was bone china
white and thin.
A breakable wisp.It was fleeting.
Mother snapped
shots of it
on Sundays.I sat in the family
rocking chair
in the unused room
with ankles crossed.Swirl feel
under the skirt
of my church dress.
It lived there.A lace sash
tied off
access to
the pure me.My holiness
sewn
delicate
as an eyelet.