Hesitancy Walks Her Down the Aisle

By Tara Gira

He stands there

At the altar.

Dressed in gold,

Shimmering ivory. 

So soft- ever sweetly and gently

From Him exuding.

I wonder

How to best

Exalt.

Could I 

Ever satisfy?

I’m dressed in red

Satin.

Drowning in the many layers.

Will I 

Even make it to Him?

I shift 

On my heels.

I draw blood.

He sees.

Knows. 

The elevator

In my throat plummets to the last floor.

His hands

Are covered in gloves.

Made from a silk of love.

Priceless-

And His fingers reach.

I’m standing halfway.

Desperately

Wanting to smile-

Run into His arms.

But I scream silently.

Deathly still.

So

Do I turn on my heel?

Or

Do I walk

Towards

My Inconceivable Love. 

By Tara Gira