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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



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.