Fog Like a Veil
Katherine Scott

Fog like a veil

      drapes a pale buick bride
driven down the aisle by her trucker uncles,
         hoping they will press her hand to the grit of the familiar driveway.

Hushed music accompanies
this slow march through the peaks

when semis, soaring past 
in a free fall,

strew gravel like petals as they gallop by

The sleep drunk party, counting deer as they pass 
          sprawl torpid arms over buckles.

While the driver's baby blues
    contract and contort, 
attempting to wheedle road dashes

through a film of lace
cascading over night.

One hand clenches the wheel,
the other a procession of coffee cups

          and sleet presses kisses to her windscreen.
          Unconscious copilots,

holding their peace,
will never know how elusive runaway grooms can be. 

30