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Paper Clothes
- University of Pittsburgh Press
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54 Paper Clothes There are so many words for clothing: le pantalon, la jupe, des chaussures, laid out on the pages, flat like the paper clothes you fold onto the collarbones of dolls, false like the dickey sewn into the navy-blue jacket I wore when I interviewed for this job. I asked for a glass of water, the waxed cup shook, the principal stared at me until I thought the dickey had come loose, he could see my breasts. There’s not enough fabric, and my arms are hot, they want me to take everything off, le manteau, la robe, and you, your soft stomach exhaling in my hand when the stars shine in the windows. I get dressed when it’s still dark out, pull on une chemise, sleeves cut from the sky. They’re pink-flowered like my arms beneath their thin cover, white spots of hydrocortisone over the eczema. When I’m at the board asking How do you say scarf, skirt, I’ll feel them, flush with knowing. ...