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The Red Dress
My wedding day is a cliff over a black, black sea. Swirling sea. Rocks-in-the-sky. Men in Speedos jump from up here into the water, but the water is so far away some men miss and fall like discarded pants to the volcanic rock jutting in fists out of the sea. A body floats to the surface— from up here in the empty adobe church I can see the surface and I can see the body, jelly white with black, black sores. My dress is a red tablecloth. The bridesmaids are strangers, small dark women to whom I cannot speak. I thank them for joining my part, and they nod and nod and smile and all the while those men are flying.
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