It's Still Life

Bride with a Fan

She is made of hush —
blue air, white petals,
a face turned inward
as though listening
for the vow before it is spoken.

The veil does not hide her;
it teaches light to soften.
Even her silence seems painted
with a tremor of winter sky.

In her hand, the fan opens
like a small, private weather,
something between a flower
and a folded wing.

She stands at the edge of becoming:
not sorrowful,
not glad,
but entirely
a breath held inside blue.