The deliriously frothy elegantly pleated white dotted-swiss lilac mini-dress that moved
when I moved and sprang clockwise and counterclockwise when I stopped with a twist,
the one with the white pussycat bow that tied at my nape and travelled down to the small
of my back—meow!—with which I wore white fishnets & dark purple patent leather may janes
to Martin Rubinoff’s Bar Mitzfah, a neighbor my age in the apartments, where I was treated
to a seat of honor I didn’t want on the dais beside his little brother, Shane Rubinoff,
who, cutting himself a piece of prime rib, dropped the entire meat in my lap five seconds
after we sat down. The dress went to the cleaners who ironed out every last pleat causing
the dress to grow in circumference and who, despite pleading, could never pleat it right again.
Never. To that sugar cube of a dress, Au revoir. If there’s a heaven, I’ll see you again, 1/8th inch folds and all.
[Refer: This poem put the editors in mind of Adriana Paramo’s essay “Phony Boys and a Moment of Truth.”]
Lynne Shapiro lives and works in Hoboken, New Jersey. Her poems and essays have been included in a variety of literary publications, including terrain.org, Decomposition: An Anthology of Fungi-Inspired Poems, qarrtsiluni, Blue Print Review, and Mslexia.
Image by The DeliciousLife