Among digital brides
︎︎︎ Naomi Leigh
︎ Dec 12, 2025
Peter tells me black tie in mid-afternoon is perverse, Eveningwear in the day mere steps from brown-shoe-black-belt.
But—customs be damned!—they present to me in spurts
Of pixelated technicolor as my eyes begin to melt
Into mobile images in my hand of a getaway car turned hearse
And old friends turned strangers and feelings so long unfelt.
Tulle and taffeta and Chantilly lace hug the bride
Who hugs an old friend, hair more receded, yet arm firm by her side.
II
It’s not the fires of envy that burn in my soul
Nor pangs of nostalgia that freeze me in my walk.
But the absence of something, the presence of a hole
Where once there was a path, and now but grass and stalk.
And unfolding before is the life I may have known
Had I stayed the charted course, had I not deviated on my walk.
Oh, tender heart, you know so many things the digital brides never will
But are you richer for the knowledge? Have you got more than your fill?
When you watch them dance to old crooners belting Earth Wind & Fire
In italicized fonts and millennial captions unearthed in red rings
Is it a sphere of youthful symphony? Is your soul alit with desire?
Or does your mind wander to like a living child to more mundane things?
Compared to the eternal bond of matrimony, what could be higher?
Than what leads men to cavort and drives women to sing.
Traveling too often leads you no home to return to
And armoires give way to the bags of mine I’ve strewn.
IV
Life is not a static thing that can be captured in a flash
Nor the bloodied toes of ballerinas who sauter from first position.
It’s the paradox of movement and the chafing of the gash
And the vibrations of the timpani echoing in Tchaikovsky’s rendition.
Oh, long diverged paths before me, so impenetrable your railings as I pass
Do my ungrateful eyes dare glance your way? Will you derail my mission?
Oh bright green light before me, oh wintry gravel road I’ve chosen
How am I to know if I’ve made it or I’m frozen?
But—customs be damned!—they present to me in spurts
Of pixelated technicolor as my eyes begin to melt
Into mobile images in my hand of a getaway car turned hearse
And old friends turned strangers and feelings so long unfelt.
Tulle and taffeta and Chantilly lace hug the bride
Who hugs an old friend, hair more receded, yet arm firm by her side.
II
It’s not the fires of envy that burn in my soul
Nor pangs of nostalgia that freeze me in my walk.
But the absence of something, the presence of a hole
Where once there was a path, and now but grass and stalk.
And unfolding before is the life I may have known
Had I stayed the charted course, had I not deviated on my walk.
Oh, tender heart, you know so many things the digital brides never will
But are you richer for the knowledge? Have you got more than your fill?
When you watch them dance to old crooners belting Earth Wind & Fire
In italicized fonts and millennial captions unearthed in red rings
Is it a sphere of youthful symphony? Is your soul alit with desire?
Or does your mind wander to like a living child to more mundane things?
Compared to the eternal bond of matrimony, what could be higher?
Than what leads men to cavort and drives women to sing.
Traveling too often leads you no home to return to
And armoires give way to the bags of mine I’ve strewn.
IV
Life is not a static thing that can be captured in a flash
Nor the bloodied toes of ballerinas who sauter from first position.
It’s the paradox of movement and the chafing of the gash
And the vibrations of the timpani echoing in Tchaikovsky’s rendition.
Oh, long diverged paths before me, so impenetrable your railings as I pass
Do my ungrateful eyes dare glance your way? Will you derail my mission?
Oh bright green light before me, oh wintry gravel road I’ve chosen
How am I to know if I’ve made it or I’m frozen?
Naomi Leigh is a writer based in NYC.