“A wedding from the perspective of someone pretending he wasn’t the groom”

In the hall awash with flowers white,  
Under lantern’s honeyed glow,  
I stand beside a cake of heights,  
With nerves I'll never show.  
They smile and nudge, “How fine you look,”  
I nod, as distant kin,  
My heart a fluttering, secret book—  
Pretend the bride won’t notice grin.

My mother’s tears, my sister’s shoe,  
The violinists tuning bows;  
I slip between the guests who knew,  
Yet marvel how the story goes.  
“The groom’s about, I haven’t seen—”  
A cousin searches, glass in hand—  
I’m just a shadow on the green,  
One more guest in wedding band.

The vows drift softly, not my part,  
I gaze as though I’m far removed,  
Yet words are knotted in my heart  
Like silver stitches never proved.  
The bride approaches, hopeful eyes,  
As petals dance, the sun beams down—  
My mask is thin, my sly disguise:  
I’m only watching from this town.

But suddenly, her hand in mine,  
The laughter round me folds and bends—  
Pretending fails beneath the shine  
Of promises that never end.  
And so the secret shimmers, done:  
A groom pretending not to be—  
But by the time the waltz’s spun,  
I join her step, as truly me.

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