Trans Amore: Auditions
Her summer dress was a hillside in bloom. Pastel print of gladiolas and allium bathed in a ginkgo leaf’s green, ruffled around the bodice, an afternoon held by its white seams that I would try on, feet first through the sheath, to know what it was like, a season on your body. My mother, in her summer dress, after the dishes were in their cupboards, after her sons had been put to sleep, where they tussled and snagged the sheets with their feet, she was kind. She’d let me flit in the night, on her cobblestone girlhood streets, through the meadow in our hem-held loitering. The cowslips shameless across our knees.
