The Orange Silk Dress

by Sithis Yim Samnang

 

Between our dreams

fear in realities meet
the unfortunate bravery
captured an uncalled treachery.

 

My mother sewed a dress

made of orange silk

wounded her hand and her mouth

with needle made weapon, to quilt

the flesh of her own and her son

 

She gave him his dress

to impress his father

to confess his future

to commit to his wonder

 

She gave him his dress

to leave unwanted identity

his father momentarily

startled uncontrolled angered

silence

 

Monumental spokesman of

a dream reoccurrence of

his sharp condolent eyes

trying to warn me

 

Reminded the indifferent

obvious statement about a

transgender woman who was

kicked out of her own house

by her own father

 

Silence masked in the foggy dream

nightmare or bravery, it seemed

controlled repetitive thoughts

fraudulent — my mother’s bravery

 

Between our screens

my hands painted silk nail polish

asking about my brother and you

so articulate myself

to know about you

 

 

Why didn’t you give me the orange dress

like in the dreary nightmare?

Spoken under the heteronormativity

as it painted your nails hot pink

 

My orange dress is as

broken as reality, as

your working hands, as

our distancing stands,

and my orange dress

 

keeps on being torn.