The White Dress

Much ado about a dress I’ve always kept,

though decades have passed since I slid my arms into those sleeves

and felt the soft embrace of cotton jersey, supple on my hips and thighs,

the full skirt flaring out, that cotton kiss whispering on my knees. I loved that dress before we met.

You remember me in that dress, that moment time stood still,

the earth’s axis lost its tilt when that spark lit between our eyes.

And now I say I’ll burn that dress, here at home in a fire I will build,

not to burn away the love or what it represents,

instead to lift it up

from the mud that’s flung by smaller minds to sully love divine.

Jealous fools who never felt the moon forget the tide,

who never flew without wings, drinking stardust from a perfect kiss

that lives outside of time.

They cannot touch our memories or dull our spirits down,

so let’s write their fears on my white dress and turn it into holy smoke,

give it to the air.

They’ll never burn away or take this love of ours

that’s written in the stars. I’ll be the one to strike the match and fan the flames, dance naked to one drum.

I’ll keep the ashes of our love and feed them to the ground,

plant my flowers all around and nourish life, not burn it down, return it to the sky.