She had no need to tell the world her intention – the dress spoke for her.
It told the world:
‘I will no longer be caged, I will be free, like the long flowing tresses of this gown.
Watch, as they glide across the floor like a stream.
Follow me into the water.
I want you to see
every bead that has been dropped into the river,
see it sink into the fabric, that gorgeous lace.
Look, there is my grandmother and grandfather in Hyderabad.
Touch this fabric they are selling to the tailor.
He is the one who will build my dress.
He is the one we have chosen from the recommendations of Bilu Aunty and the match-maker on our road.
I will no longer be caged, I will be free, like the long flowing tresses of this gown.
Watch, as the drapes fold across one another like a stream.
How many women have lived before me in this dress – how many will live after me?
I want you to see those women. I want you to imagine their hands on my dress.
Look, as they trace every curve and bend of my waterbody, marking each new location with a pin.’
‘Ow! That hurts Mr. Khar. Do you really have to put a new pin in every time? Can’t you just stitch it up while I’m standing?’
‘That won’t work, madam. Just stay still.’
But, she did not. The water fell out of the river.
The heavens opened and flooded, reams of tears have adorned this dress.
Watch as they sink onto the fabric, that gorgeous lace, that beautiful face, that beautiful
Dress of mine.’
About: Born and raised in London, P.M. is a British-Indian, queer, spoken word poet, writer and blogger. Placing 3rd in the UK Slam Championships in 2019, she’s gone on to perform around London and in Hong Kong. If she’s not writing or performing, you’ll find her in bed under a mountain of blankets and emotions on her 10th cup of green tea, re-watching Hercules or Whisper of the Heart.
Twitter – @poetpri_m
Instagram – @poetpri_m
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