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Issue 37: Spring 2017

The Daycare Bride

By Meghan Bell
They've gagged me / with a tensor bandage;

They've gagged me

with a tensor bandage; intended for my veil, yes, but

the veil is a cotton/polyester blend;

twilight lavender, floral print.

The bandage scratches

my forehead, slides off and into

my mouth, again, and again,

and again.

Again. They laugh and shriek.

My dress is of coloured scarves, tucked

into my bra straps and the waist of my jeans,

tied around my wrists

and my elbows and my knees.

My bouquet is made of nylon.

My feast is made of plastic

and velcro. We rip it off the plates.

The bridesmaids wear their shoes inside

two-inch size six heels. They say I'm such a beautiful bride.

At the end of the aisle,

they sit me in a rubber chair,

spider small hands over my scalp. They chant

(or it may only be one or two; high-pitched,

cacophonous) now it's time

to cut your hair. Now it's time to

cut your hair. Now

it's time to cut

your hair.

About the author

Meghan Bell’s fiction and poetry have appeared in literary journals across Canada, and she has written critical essays about wealth, capitalism, and mental health for The Walrus and The Tyee. She is the former publisher of Room Magazine, a co-founder of the Growing Room literary and arts festival, and a current editorial board member and graphic designer for the organization. In November 2019, Meghan joined Resource Movement, a community of young Canadians with wealth and/or class privilege working toward the redistribution of wealth, land, and power.