The Red Dress, by Myra Schneider

The Red Dress

From Circling The Core (Enitharmon Press 2008) My first reaction is: I want it,
can’ t wait to squeeze into
a scarlet sheath that promises
breasts round as russet apples,
a waist pinched to a pencil,
hips that know the whole dictionary
of swaying, can’ t wait
to saunter down an August street
with every eye upon me.   But the moment I’ m zipped in
I can’ t breathe and the fabric
hugging my stomach without mercy
pronounces me a frump.
Besides, in the internet café,
where you can phone Tangiers
or Thailand for almost nothing
fourteen pairs of eyes
are absorbed by screens.
No one whistles when I smile
at boxes of tired mangoes
and seedy broccoli heads
outside the Greek superstore.   By now I’ m in a fever to undo
the garment and pull it off.
And for all its flaws, for all
that it only boasts one breast,
I’ m overjoyed to re-possess
my body. I remember I hate
holding in and shutting away.
What I want is a dress easy
as a plump plum oozing
juice, as a warm afternoon
in late October creeping
its ambers and cinnamons into
leaves, a dress that reasssures
there’ s no need to pretend,
a dress that’ s as capacious
as generosity, a dress that willingly
unbuttons and whispers in the ear:
be alive every minute of your life.

poems.one - Myra Schneider