This next two sections I'll read is--
they're sonnets and they're from interviews
that I did with the daughters of incarcerated men, women, who--
their parents were incarcerated either for all
or most of their lives, and the dynamic
of being released-- their parents being
released and having that first moment of like contact
or memory, being their wedding.
All right.
So going from like babies to wedding.
Specifically, I don't know.
I mean, I'm like not a traditional person,
but thinking about that father-daughter dance,
and so I wrote two sonnets based off
of two photographs of one specific person
that I spoke to.
One is a sonnet about the white wedding dress,
and one is a sonnet about the blue--
the sapphire wedding dress that she wore to have
her first dance with her dad.
So I'll read those two.
"Ivory."
She belongs to nobody but herself.
But hands in the air for breeding of bloodlines.
Back closure, a suture of pearls on white twine, jewels nestled.
Good in the flesh is her wealth, laced over shoulders
by the hand stealth.
Lift a glass of red, white, or lift the brine.
When she wears it, she's everyone's child.
Fine, new, protected, free.
Believe in her health and what is sewn beyond me.
Know her crown.
The two live it.
The route it takes down her back, spotless as a future.
Oh, this gown.
Even the home she is leaving is not pure.
Not the one she headed to, just her brown.
Her train endless as a field.
Secure.
Let garment run for miles.
Love is a town.