Ekphrasis on my Rapist's Wedding Dress

 by torrin a. greathouse

 

still as a scar through the screen's glow : perhaps this is the origin

of my obsession with the color white : searching to name this shade

color like bitten bed sheets : color like a failed dove : or split lip

 

when red has ceased howling its way to the surface : perhaps the color

of fog over the river bed that morning : or the color of concrete

that bleach & blood leave behind : it hangs around her like the word

 

faggot in the air of the locked bedroom : like drying hemorrhage suspended

between skin & cotton : sideways on the bathroom floor : it hangs around

her like a name : that once belonged only to me : & i think maybe

 

most of all i am jealous : for any metaphor i can put to it : the dress

is still beautiful : pale & soft & pure : & isn't this just like my poems?

dressing a violence in something pretty & telling it to dance?