Chattanooga Wedding

It takes six pairs of arms to lift the dress, with its decadent beading like snow powdered on pine limbs, the fine leafy fluttering of silver-filigreed tulle.

The crushed pearl collar, the frothy yards of lace—a glittering crystal train recalls the shiny underbellies of trout. Aunt Cindy smokes Virginia Slims

in the dressing room, squeezes stretch-marked breasts into corsetry, winces at Mama’s stocking foot on her back, the leverage & tight pull of polyester laces.

Sister & I wear makeup for the first time, red silk. The pale shock of our high coloring against crimson, Lolitas adorned in lilies & dark rouge,

like children in gothic fairy tales. Smile, the photographer commands me, lifting my chin with a pen. Why can’t you smile like your sister? I study my nails,

scrubbed clean of grime & foreign to me now under layers of creamy shellac. A kinswoman braids satin ribbons into my hair, wrinkles furrowing the soft folds

of her hands. After the plait is set, accented with ivory seashell hairpins, she won’t stop touching my curls. Her fingers stroke up & down the tendrils, coaxing

notes from a timid instrument. When at last Mama thanks her, nervously pries the hand from my head & pulls me from the chair, the woman keeps reaching

into nothing. The flatness of her dark eyes, stilled shallows—she stares into space— her palms clasp & release, clasp & release, tracing incantations in empty air.