I dreamt I discovered my mother's wedding dress
though it didn't resemble
the sensible home-made satin number she wore.
The dream dress
was an extravagance
of bows pearls rosettes and lace
and yet somehow
the effect was one of exotic elegance.
Residing in a wardrobe of darkest wood
the kind that black holes light I drew the veil out.
No token froth of tulle this
but a headdress
fit for a fairy tale queen
a deluge of netting of yeasting exestuation.
Light as wind-blown hair I shook the veil
encouraging fabric to fly and flutter and finally descend
in Godiva embrace.
Then I journeyed to the mirror.
Oh
but it tore
fragile as tissue
and oh
tripped my heels
as it dragged
foaming behind
till abandoning the fantasy of a fantasy bride
I brutalized the bloody thing and flung it aside.
YOU ARE READING
Borealis Love
PoetryLove - what does that word mean, what does it comprise? Do we always recognise it when faced with it? Do we value it when we ought to do so? Do we squander it when it is too easily given? Do we ever understand until it has left us and we are left to...
