The Dress

Dead Dragon1

 

I found the dress
Tucked away
In an old chest
Folded in a heap
It was ordinary
Until I shook it out
And then. . . .
Oh then. . . .
It began to shimmer. . .
It began to blur. . . .
Lighter than air
It seemed to move
On air currents I
Couldn’t discern,
The color came alive
As the light wafted
Over its undulating surface
Not dull brown
But brilliant green
Like the leaves of crocus
Against the white of winter

Beneath the dress
In a photo album
The story of the dress
Unfolded, one
Faded black and white
Shot at a time
Turning into sepia
Relics of another era.
My grandmother at her
Prom, wearing the dressing
With an orchid corsage,
Her mother at her
Coming out wearing the
Dress under a fur coat
That wonderful skirt
Swirling under the heavy
Animal on top
In every picture
The fabric seemed to
Move and live
Through time and
Wear and tear
Without color and
Behind coffee stains
And through rips in
The photo paper
The dress seemed
Dance through the
Ages effortlessly
Making every woman
Who wore it look
Like a fairy princess.

The last piece in the
Album was a letter
With a hand drawn
Picture. It was undated
And started, “My darling”.
It told the tale of an explorer
Deep in the Siberian wilderness
Who found the remains of a
Recently deceased large creature.
“A green emerald dragon if you
Can believe it love,” he wrote.
He said he was sending her
A section of its wing, “more delicate
And beautiful than silk. Make this
Into a beautiful
dress.”

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