with thanks to M.H. for your care and support
dress1
a summer’s day
and she’s swaying greyscale
in the barn
focusing the mind
knowing the magic will happen
she’s been there before
so she sucks and she sucks
thumbs or thoughts
to push them to the front
don’t ask if it’s there
memories jostle for attention
before the breakthrough
breeze tickles the bottom hem
over the hairy, swollen ankles
of final farewells gone wrong
a summer’s day
a child held back in the hay
with a shaking head
dress2
“but just look at the fabric”
at the shop before
Yale vultures shot over our heads
in a sharp arrow
now spiders suck
mayfly cocktails around me
open the window for them
but they choose the web
it came from St. John’s Street
the day that Anna moved
vivid red with Aztec eyes
unworn and antique
11 giant birds riding the updraft
naked pink heads
scouting for carcasses
along the Fraser, the valley
dress3
his stare made me cringe and his words made me gag
“nipples - I can see your nipples”
a baggy dress to hide a bad diet
an attempt to blend not to attract
“you look like a goddess in flowing blue”
as I stood on the street, either side my large dog leashed
a day on the wharf with an ex-lover who is trying to take me home
posing pretty for the camera because I know I won’t go
false passion on a stage of wood
the gaps in the boards too slim for your ego
so it stays and it bows
to anything that will notice it
dress4
toenail polish to match the dress
the package was returned, torn open
too much in the envelope undeclared
he had said the colour reminded him of me
every stoplight, every sunset
my hand on his shoulder
he was in California for the summer
and I was eager, waiting
a naive lover not over 16
always returning
the colour, unblemised
I’m smiling in the sun on the lawn
my feet are flexed toward the camera
a toothless smirk reflects the light
while you are having sex on the beach
dress5
what is clean?
scrub all you want but have you changed the atoms
the essence of a moment imprinted on a virgin cloak
black with hate or wet with tears?
here’s the wine, the constant stain
seeping into the deepest recess of flesh
and nudging it longfully with its hips
knowing no matter what it will remain
so what is the point?
try as hard as you can but have you made progress
a pointless monkey in a hologram
black with hate or wet with tears?
here’s your crime, your shocking sin
that won’t let you start over again
begging on its knees to let it in
let your friends die because you don’t think you can handle it?
dress6
how many times has the kimono come up?
always in water, red shades
flowing waves and fabric toward the sea
a gift from a suitor, with an invitation to Japan
“never work again and have my babies”
then it returned, in the closet, in photos
the bow migrating around the house
sandals still wrapped in plastic
not worn in seriousness, in love
the kimono drowned that day
dress7
photos in the ivy
and now the memory defines me
when it’s wine-coloured and available
the stockings fit right in
Angel humoured the experience
before we parted ways
the boots were from a stripper
smooth vinyl glaring from beneath the strangled oak
dress8
you’ve been gone a while
a mayfly resigned to a life behind glass
trapped inside, diving into a web
skipping the starving hours
to accept a quick suspended death
while I roll out my flesh, making your shape with a cookie cutter
leaves plump and dry
in the years past a poem
denial drinks a naughty scorn
too late
as you decide whether to betray your cards or hold them
***
totally relaxed I watch the canyon
ebb and flow with the wind and the wine
May 26, just after the full moon
heifers enjoying the spring until their babies are taken away
I look for a point to this project
and see this dress without a form
a remedy to what has been
an offering to amend and be reborn
dress9
“who gives a fuck about Alfred Sung?
a tag doesn’t buy you friends”
an alterior motive that left a sour taste on all sides
vanity, vengeance and vanquished confidence
influenced the scene, bathtub next to the barn
technology stepping into relationships
like a bad drink on a good night
polka dots shared on the lawn
the Cariboo had us
our boredom, bullied
each other until betrayal had pushed us apart
bras on the internet, stalkers in the trees
there may never be apologies
but hopefully we’ve all moved on
dress10
the woman I’ve always wanted to be
wearing a plain black dress every day
eating a simple meal
strong above temptation
open only to the arts
giving back as much as possible
while conjuring a positive life
trusting each step to reach its kind destination
as I absorb the present moon
without reaching for the next
gagging on reality
a sated gullet dreaming peace
living to create and offer aid
unaware of judgement, anger or impatience
I strive for a life of honest meaning
dress11
maybe it’s about wine
nights alone transfixed on work
satisfaction
men offering you gems
a chance between the high notes
satisfaction
every night at the theatre
watch the show-within-a-show
satisfaction
freedom of expression
the korkoro dancer
satisfaction
giant chimes hanging from the rafters
colours beyond our perception
satisfaction
other souls to influence your design
pain aplenty to feed the guilt clings to your bones
satisfaction
supposedly I emerged from the tent
taking the breath away before going underground
the ceremony was loud, huffing
berries and bark before vomiting in buckets
later it fell
to the earth before a bath of cedar and vision
enduring the wood’s ether
or curses before dancing in the hotroom
***
sometimes with a shawl
the dress vibrates a copper light
before we know
what’s next
laura kelsey is a former newspaper editor; and now a freelance
writer, photographer and performer from vancouver british columbia.
her poems have appeared in the new chief tongue,
the carnegie and stew magazine.