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.
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