She married herself on a Thursday night
in her attic room over the stairs
with the pull-down ladder
providing enough ceremony
to replace the aisle altogether.
It was a small affair,
inviting only herself,
wearing a dress borrowed from who she used to be.
She took herself back so unconditionally,
vowing out loud
over the quiet, gritty boxes
that the blue string she slipped around her finger
was a promise to remember.
Sobriety Poet 