Page 55 - WTP Vol. V #4

You ask why I wear white. To merge with the clouds on blue days. Comfort to a body cold as the snows. No breaking of silence. Just the fall of it. Frozen windows. The house contracts. I don’t say I wear white just for you. Turning back time a little while. To feel myself come alive again. That when you are gone I carry the end on my back. Head to toe. Dresses of coal and mourning. A black feather in my hat dusting the air. The birds will continue to sing. I sip my tea. Winter releases its dark horn. Time changes and changes, again. When finally your boots come stomping up my path. Reeking from blood. The stench of a thousand battles. Do you notice an odor, dear Petrov. The last was during the blooming sage. It is for you I rush to the wardrobe. Choosing the whitest day muslin. My white silk for nights beginning to darken. Shadows in the folds almost like dirt. A ribbon of white tied ‘round my waist. No flowers in winter. Remember. We are north-facing. Perhaps a bowl of sticks or gourds. The silken buds saved for my hair. Becoming the bride men fear to love.
In the Folds
Tepper has been nominated multiple times for the Pushcart Prize, and once for a Pulitzer Prize for the novel.
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