THE PROM DRESS

The prom dress arrives, horrendously large.

Empty spaces define it— under arms, chest, skirt dragging underfoot.

Mom takes pleasure in this chore of motherhood.

She discusses that baby blue sack in excruciating detail. This was the comfort floating between us: a bodiless prom dress steaming in the shower letting out its wrinkles.

Her hands work to fill the empty spaces. She tightens and I can not move and we end up laughing for a split second as if nothing had happened because nothing had happened. This is how it was: coming close by holding back, questions not asked, hesitations caught between teeth busy holding needles.

Safety pins poke at ribs; ribbon is removed, placed on a flimsy bustle of extra fabric; thick push-ups weigh down chest, everything beating.

She ignores the zipper, stitching me into an ocean of tulle instead.

And you’d think I felt like a regular Cinderella, but I walk too carefully— skirt clutched in tired fists, terrified of pulling a single thread.

If one goes the rest will follow.

Audrey Pettit