WEBVTT

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I've worn it three
days in a row,

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the dress my mother died in.

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No, the dress I was wearing
when my mother died.

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And I took pictures of myself.

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Self?

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No, of the dress, of my legs
curled tight under the dress.

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Only my ankles and feet showing.

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I held my arm up
and back and did not

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want to show my head, my
swollen eyes, and chapped lips,

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and all that dried
salt on my face.

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My face, she could
not bear to look

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at unless it was with disgust.

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My hair, never good, no good.

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And my unironed dress,
this one I am wearing now,

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with its white cotton
underslip and its red

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embroidered paisley
upon a white background.

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It is beautiful
even with me in it.

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Yes, I am not wearing a hat.

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She said, "You look
so ugly in that hat."

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It was my favorite
one of three hats.

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She had more than 100 hats
stored in her basement

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in labeled hat boxes.

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They were her particular thing.

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Every Sunday, a new one perched
proudly as a bird-of-paradise,

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though only the males
are so presentable.

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But she was a tomboy once,
and so was her mother,

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so she hated my
teacups and my dollies

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that I couldn't sleep without,
like I slept that day when

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I found out she had died.

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I lay fetal upon the bed, atop
the duvet, and wanted to live.

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And felt guilt like a
razor over the wrist.

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You always were odd
and always carrying on.

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You talk too much.

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You are a mess.

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And I was a mess.

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My chest wet and my
heart shrinking in.

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And I was shrinking.

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And this was good.

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She was always a small
woman, except for 10 years

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when she grew past what
her small frame could hold.

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Who can say why her hunger grew
and why she hated my hunger

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to be held and so recoiled?

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And I went days and days
without any touch at all.

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And I have gone
days and days since.

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Ugly in my hat.

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Even my father thought so,
though now he isn't sure.

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Since she died, so
much has changed.

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Even this dress, now stained
by wear and coffee and crying.

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And now the pills won't let me.

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And now and again,
sleeping in it.

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And just last night,
keeping it on for dinner,

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alone, at the same counter
where I was when I found out

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she had died.

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A few minutes after
our last phone

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call when she couldn't see me
and so could afford to love me.

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