Wedding Knells

a poem by Abigail M. Parker

What shall you, what shall you have for your dress?

I shall make it of silk, for my silk is the best.

It is spun by the worms that have bred in my breast—

That is what, sir, I shall have for my dress.

What shall you, what shall you have for your veil?

It must be something long, it must be something pale;

I shall make it of hair from a dead woman’s skull—

That is what, sir, I shall have for my veil.

Who shall you, who shall you have for your priest?

The beetle wears black and seems sober, at least.

And what shall you, what shall you give him to eat?

That’s easy enough, sir—I shall be the feast.

But who shall you, who shall you have for your groom?

What man says “I do” to so wretched a doom?

But ah, sir, but oh, sir, I thought that you knew—

Did you not hear the tomb close? My groom shall be you.

Abigail M. Parker is a writer of supernatural and historical fiction and poetry. She lives in a hundred-year-old house in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania with her husband, a Siamese cat, and thirteen bookcases.